L*E*A*P 4077
by Madwoman in the TARDIS
Summary: Quantum Leap/ M*A*S*H crossover. Dr. Samuel Beckett Leaps into Corporal Walter "Radar" O'Reilly in order to protect a nurse from sexual harassment and save the life of an ailing doctor.
1. Reporting for Duty

**Copyright and Author's Rambling**

Quantum Leap belongs to Don Bellisario.  I'm not sure who owns M*A*S*H, but it's certainly not me (Larry Gelbart, maybe?).  Either way, I don't own any of the shows or the characters (although I do own Leah "Baby" Brighton and the patients scattered throughout Pre-Op, Post-Op, and the O.R.).   I've been watching Quantum Leap since this summer and M*A*S*H since a few weeks ago, but I caught on very quickly.  I'm not an expert at science, medicine, or military protocol.  If I make any mistakes, please correct me.  And don't sue me, please.  I've got nothing to give you but my twisted mind.

During the eleven seasons that M*A*S*H was on the air, there were several cast changes.  The people at MASH 4077 during this time are Captain Hawkeye Pierce, Captain B.J. Hunnicutt, Colonel Sherman T. Potter, Major Margaret Houlihan, Major Charles Winchester, Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, Corporal Radar O'Reilly, and Father John Mulcahy.

Even though the other Quantum Leap story I'm currently writing takes place post-Mirror Image (with Admiral Albert Calavicci married to Beth), this story is written to reflect the Al we saw for five seasons (lewd, lecherous, skirt-chasing, cigar smoking, sincere, loyal, and all those other good qualities Al possessed).

L*E*A*P 4077

Theorizing that a person could travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum accelerator … and vanished.  He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better.  His only guide on this journey is Al, a hologram from his own time that only Sam can see and hear.  And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time that his next Leap is the Leap home.

            As the blue light from the Leap In faded, Dr. Samuel Beckett blinked to get his surroundings into focus.  He (or his host, whomever that was) was sitting behind a desk.  A white-haired man in an Army officer's uniform stood in front of the desk, and a woman in a dress taken straight out of _Gone With the Wind_ leaned nonchalantly against a door.

            "Well, Radar, what did the general say?" the officer asked.

            Sam glanced at Scarlett O'Hara, half-hoping that she was Radar and could save him from unavoidable embarrassment.  When he noticed the officer glancing at him and gently coughing, he gulped.

            "Um, he said … he said he'd have to get back to us, sir," Sam finally said.

            The officer's forehead furrowed in confusion.  "Get back to us?" he inquired.  "It was a yes or no answer."

            Sam nodded.  "Well, sir, this is a very difficult and involved decision," he improvised.  "God forbid he should make a mistake."

            "Horse hockey!" the officer shouted.  "What's so hard about supplying a medical unit with hot water compresses?"

            Sam shrugged.  "Beats me, sir."

            Scarlett O'Hara knocked on the threshold of the door.  When the officer nodded, she sashayed up to the desk.  "May I have a word with you, Rhett?" she asked the officer in a fake Southern accent.  "I seem to have misplaced my emerald broach."  

            Upon closer inspection, Sam noticed that his Scarlett O'Hara was more of a Rhett Butler.  "That's a man?" Sam muttered to himself.

            "Yes, I'm a man!" the ex-Scarlett exclaimed.  "I'm a corporal in the U.S. Army who parades around in women's attire.  Everyone tells me I'm nuts."  He glanced at the officer.  "I should get my Section 8, Colonel.  Nutsos like me don't belong in a respectable institution such as the Army, you know."

            The colonel rolled his eyes, signifying to Sam that this was not a new occurrence.  "Klinger," he addressed the cross-dressing corporal.  "If you think people are going to think you're nuts, than you're really nuts."

            "Colonel, Colonel, Colonel," Klinger pleaded in the fake Southern accent.  "Whatever shall I do?  Wherever shall I go?  I'm too crazy to stay here."  He pouted in the colonel's direction.

            In reply, the colonel pulled himself up to full height and looked Klinger straight in the eye.  "Frankly, my dear," he replied in a deep voice.  "I don't give a damn!"

            "Careful, Potter," a man piped in as he entered the room.  "People might start to mistake you for Clark Gable."  His companion, a tall man with a cheesy mustache, grabbed Klinger and led him in a tango across the floor.

            "Oh, boy!" Sam groaned.  "I'm in the Cuckoo's Nest!"

* * *

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 5, 1952.

            "And you're just figuring that out now?" Colonel Potter said.  "Done with surgery already?" he inquired.

            "Fifteen glorious hours in the Ritz Plaza," the first man answered haggardly.  He leaned up against the corner of the wall.  "Tonight, a certain Nurse Julie and I will be in the honeymoon suite overlooking Chez Latrine," he yawned.  "And tomorrow night, you can find me with a sexy Korean girl at the Four Seasons, across the street from the Marriott Mess Tent."  He squinted and gently massaged his temples.

            "Are you feeling okay, Hawk?" the mustachioed man asked.

            The man known as Hawk blinked and forced himself to open his eyes.  "I'm … I'm fine, Beej," he assured his companion.  "It's just a little too bright in here, that's all."

            Sam instinctively approached Hawk.  "You probably have a migraine."

            "I feel fine," Hawk panted.

            "Bull crackers!" General Potter said.  "Your face matches the walls perfectly.  If someone's not careful, they're liable to hang a painting on your nose."

            "How long have you had that headache?" Sam asked.

            Beej and Klinger laughed.  "Playing doctor again, Radar?" Beej ribbed.  "I know some girls who would love to play the lucky nurse."

            "Ziggy, are you sure this is the right location?" a raspy voice asked.  "This looks more like a funny farm than a MASH unit."

            "Al!" Sam exclaimed, turning to give the hologram an _I hate when you do that_ look.

            "Al?" Beej asked quizzically.

            "Al … Al find you a sexy nurse for your own game of doctor."

            Beej shook his head.  "Sorry, Radar, I'm a married man."

            Hawk grinned.  "Oh, I'm sure Radar wouldn't mind sharing company with two ladies at once."  Sam figured that if Hawk didn't seem so worn out, that wisecrack would have had more "charm" to it.

            Admiral Albert Calavicci floated past Hawk and winced.   "Geez, Sam, this guy looks like a corpse."

            "I'll be right back," Sam informed the group.  "Latrine de Louvre awaits my arrival."  As he exited, he saw a slight rash on Hawk's left hand.

* * *

            Sam and Al exited the room and wandered outside.  The room they had been in was connected to the building that housed Pre-Op, the O.R., and Post-Op.  There were several khaki green tents in the surrounding area.  One had a sign that said _Mess Tent_, and one said _Showers._

            "Al, did you know that you're the brightest thing here?"

            "You're the genius, pal, not me," Al replied, removing a cigar from his breast pocket.

            "I meant your clothes," Sam said, referring to his friend's bright red suit and matching fedora.  "Not your intellect."

            "Let's go into the Mess Tent," Al suggested.  "It's usually empty this time of day."  He floated through the side and poked his head back out, cutting his body in half.

            "I hate when you do that," Sam complained.

            The observer ignored him.  "There's a few nurses, but that's about it," Al informed the leaper.  

            When Sam had settled himself at a table in the far corner of the tent, he emitted a gentle cough.

            Al's bushy eyebrows scrunched in worry.  "Are you catching whatever that guy has?"  Sam shook his head.   "You haven't been in this Leap long enough to get sick."

            "Why am I here, Al?" Sam inquired.

            "Why are you … oh!" Al whipped out a multi-colored hand link and began to answer the questions that were customary at the start of every Leap.

            "Your name is Corporal Walter O'Reilly, and you're the company clerk …"

            "They called me Radar," Sam interrupted.

            "Ah, yeah, that's your nickname," Al explained.  "This kid seems to know about things before they happen.  Sort of like you," he added, flicking ashes from his cigar.  As the ashes hit the ground, they vanished.  "Only he doesn't have a hologram from the future to guide him."

            "Where am I? When am I?  Why …" Sam prodded.

            "As I was saying," continued Al.  "You're the company clerk at MASH unit 4077 in Ouijongbu."  Sam gave him a bewildered look.  "MASH stands for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital.  Today's date is June 5, 1952."

            "But Al, I wasn't born until August of 1953.  I can't leap before my own life time."

            "Remember when we switched places?" 

            "Something to do with a lightening strike," Sam said.

            Al pressed the cigar to his lips.  "You're probably able to leap in my lifetime, too."

            Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed a blonde woman enter the Mess Tent, accompanied by two men.  Al wolf-whistled.  "Sam!  Would you look at those casabas?"  He walked toward the woman, a lecherous expression on his face.  "And those lips … I'd give anything to kiss those hot lips."

            "Al!" Sam called out quietly.

            Admiral Calavicci shook his mind of the gorgeous female officer and turned his attentions back to the mundane task of helping Sam.  _All right, Sam's Leaps are almost never _mundane,he reasoned.  _But I'd give anything to hop into bed with that little number._  "The men you were with before are …"

            "Klinger, Colonel Potter, Hawk, and Beej.  Interesting names," Sam commented.

            "Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, Colonel Sherman T. Potter, Captain B.J. Hun …" Al whacked the hand link with his palm, causing it to emit a squeal.  "Hunnicutt.  And Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce.   Otherwise known as Hawkeye Pierce.  He's the chief surgeon."

            "Why am I here?" Sam wanted to know.  Of all the preliminary questions, this was always the most important.  Once he did what God or Time or Fate or whatever sent him leaping around through time placed him here to do, he would leap out of here and into some other life.

            "You know, sometimes I ask myself that very same question," a voice said.

            Sam looked up at the two men and the woman who had just entered.  The man who had spoken wore a silver cross.

            "Father Francis John Mulcahy, base chaplain," Al supplied.  "The others are Majors Charles Emerson Winchester III and Margaret 'Hot Lips' Houlihan."  He chuckled.  "Seems that 'Hot Lips' has been in the Military all her life.  Her father was an officer."

            "Good morning, Father," Sam greeted the priest.

            "Morning has passed," Major Winchester said in a stuffy and elite Bostonian accent.  "Good afternoon to you, Corporal."

            "Radar, Colonel Potter wants to see you," Major Houlihan informed the leaper.

            Sam stood up.  "Do you know why?"

            Margaret shook her head.  "Apparently, you left during the middle of a conversation.  You do understand that you are not supposed to leave without being dismissed by a superior officer, don't you?"  Her uniform was neatly pressed, her hair was pulled back in a professional bun, and her posture was at perfect military attention.

            Al inhaled the aroma of his cigar, a smell that Sam was more than happy to pass up.  "Major Houlihan is the most 'military' of all the officers in this camp."  He snorted.  "I don't believe it.  A _woman_!  Ain't that a kick in the butt?" 

            Sam glowered at the hologram, before turning his attention back to Major Houlihan.   "I'm sorry, Major.  It won't happen again."  _Why am I here?_ He mouthed to his observer.

            "Ziggy still hasn't told us yet," Admiral Calavicci admitted.  The hand link flashed and squealed.  "Beeks is having trouble getting information out of the kid in the Waiting Room.  I'm gonna see if he'll talk to an officer in uniform."  His eyes wandered to Margaret's busty form.  "Meanwhile, you take care of things here.  Tell the colonel that you forgot to feed your turtle.  Radar's devoted to his menagerie."  


	2. Interrogations Can Give You a Headache

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 11, 2002

            Corporal Walter Eugene O'Reilly paced the perimeter of the all white room in the futile attempt of finding an exit.  The one door he saw had a key appendage missing – a doorknob.  A small window at the top of the wall was too high up for someone of his short stature to reach.  He didn't recognize this place, nor did he remember how he ended up here.  He carefully patted the walls, searching for a way out and trying to retrace his steps.

            _I was in my office, calling the general for … for …_Radar shook his head a few times, but the cobwebs on his memory wouldn't dissipate.  _Maybe Captain … Captain … why can't I remember their names? _  For the first time since waking up in this unfamiliar locale, the corporal glanced down at his khaki uniform – and found himself in a tight-fitting white jumpsuit.  _Where's my uniform?  If this is somebody's idea of a practical joke, they've sure picked a hell of a time to pull it._

"Captain Pierce?"  Radar shouted.  _Captain Pierce!  Of course – how could I forget Hawkeye?  _  "Captain Hunnicutt?  C'mon, guys, this isn't funny anymore!"

A _whoosh_ behind him made Radar turn his attention toward the strange door.  "Holy Toledo!" he gasped as the door slid up into the ceiling, revealing a tall and slender black woman in a peach business suit.  _Must be one of Klinger's outfits,_ he decided as the woman slowly approached where he stood.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Verbena Beeks," the woman announced cheerfully.  "And you are?"

"Y-you're a d-doctor?" Radar stammered.  He'd seen black doctors before, and he'd seen female doctors, but he'd never seen both at the same time in the same person.

Dr. Beeks nodded.  "Yes, I'm a doctor," she replied.  "Actually, I'm a psychiatrist."

"Do you work with Sidney Freedman?" he asked.  Dr. Sidney Freedman was a psychiatrist who visited the MASH unit from time to time.

She shook her head.  "I haven't had that pleasure yet.  Can you tell me your name?" she repeated.

"Corporal Walter Eugene O'Reilly," he answered.  

Dr. Beeks pressed a few buttons on a flashing bracelet, then extended her hand to the young man standing before her.  "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Corporal."  She gestured to a glass table in the middle of the stark room.  "Would you like to sit down?"

Radar complied and pulled himself up onto the table.  "Look here, ma'am," he said as politely as he could.  "I'm needed back in my unit.   I got work to do, you know."

The woman smiled and nodded.  "You'll be back home soon.  We just need to do a few tests."  She pressed buttons on her bracelet as she spoke.  "I need to ask you some questions.  Can you tell me where you live?"

"Ottumwa, Iowa, but I'm practically living in Korea now."

"Are you on vacation?" she asked.  "Missionary work?  Or military duty?"

"I was invited by President Harry Truman," he snapped.  _Gosh, this lady needs a psychiatrist more than her patients._

"The Korean War?"  He could've sworn he saw confusion flicker across the doctor's face before she masked it with indifference.  "That's impossible!" she muttered to herself.  Dr. Beeks took a deep breath.  "This might sound a little odd, but could you tell me what today's date is?"

"June 5, 1952," Radar answered.  _What's with this insane interrogation?_ He wondered.  He decided to ask a question that should be easy for the woman to answer.  "How did I get here?"

The lady hesitated and fiddled with the contraption on her wrist.  "Your company walked in on an ambush," she told him.  "We need to keep you here for a few days.  A week at the most."

"Shelled?"  Radar leapt off the table and glared at the psychiatrist.  "I work in a MASH unit," he informed her.

"Are you a doctor?" she inquired.

"I'm the company clerk," he replied.  "Does Colonel Potter know where I am?"

"Of course he does," Dr. Beeks answered.  She gently tapped on the bracelet, causing it to emit an array of flashing colors.

Dr. Beeks asked him more questions, each one as crazy as the first.  _Where is your unit located?  Are you in the middle of any heavy artillery?_  

"I can't answer that, ma'am," he replied softly.  It was partially true – he could only remember _Ouij … Ouijong … Drats!_  Something fishy was going on here, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.  He studied the doctor's bracelet.  _That's probably a North Korean spy bracelet,_ Radar concluded.  _I'd better keep my mouth shut before I get into any trouble._

Realizing that she was getting nowhere with the interrogation, Dr. Verbena Beeks shook Radar's hand and approached the door.  "Thank you, Corporal O'Reilly," she told him.  "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."  Radar's jaw nearly collapsed off its hinges when the door sliding open immediately followed a press of a button on the bracelet.  He wanted to follow her, but the door slid shut before he could get his foot off the ground.  He hoisted himself back onto the table, and did the one thing he could do in a situation like this – absolutely nothing.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Erin Hunnicutt refolded her father's letter and placed it in the top drawer of her desk.   Dr. Beckett had just leaped into a new host, and as Chief Surgeon of Project Quantum Leap, it was her duty to take care of the physical problems of everyone in the complex.  That included the person occupying Sam Beckett's aura.  Dr. Beeks was conferring with the person, whoever he, she or it was.  Sam had landed in everyone and everything, from a pregnant teen to a retarded man to a NASA space chimp.  As long as Sam wasn't in any mental or physical danger, the staff could rest easy for a while, and Dr. Hunnicutt could write a letter to her dad.

Erin smiled thinking of the old man.  She had been blessed with his quiet demeanor and his looks, from his 6'3 frame to his size thirteen shoes.  He had worked as a captain in a MASH unit in Korea, and she had done a stint as a nurse in Vietnam.  Sometimes, she wished she could tell her father exactly what she was doing in Alamogordo, but she couldn't go against orders from the top brass.  She absentmindedly tapped a pen against the edge of the desk in the attempt of conjuring up a safe anecdote.  

Finally, she decided to stick with the antics of Admiral Albert Calavicci.  Her father had always enjoyed hearing about the fiery admiral, because he sounded like people he had worked with in Korea.  Between his wild clothes, lewd sense of humor, and _appreciation_ of the female gender, the man was a cross between Maxwell Q. Klinger and Hawkeye Pierce.  She had met Klinger several times over the years at sporadic MASH 4077th reunion parties.  When she was younger, she and the other girls would play dress up with Klinger's gowns.  He had painstakingly designed each and every one of them himself in the vain hope the Army would grant him a Section 8.  When he wasn't in his dress whites, the admiral sported flashy, blinding suits.  From what Erin had heard about Hawkeye Pierce, he and Al Calavicci could have engaged in a _Romancing the Nurses_ contest.

"Colonel Hunnicutt, you may enter the Waiting Room now," a sultry voice announced.

Erin glanced up at the ceiling and addressed the direction of the source.  "Thank you, Ziggy," she told the parallel hybrid computer.  

As she walked toward the Waiting Room, she saw Al leaving the Imaging Chamber.  "How's Sam?" she asked him.

Al took a puff of his cigar.  "So far, so good," he answered.  "He's in a MASH unit in Korea."

Erin wrinkled her nose.  "You know, Al, if the tobacco doesn't kill you, the stench will."

"I've already got Sam and Verbena on my case," he grumbled.  "You too?"

"I'm a doctor.  It's my job.  I'm on my way to talk to our weekly friend.  Care to join me?"

The admiral nodded.   "I need to change into my dress whites first," he explained.  "Sam's host might be more comfortable with us if he knows I'm one of him."  He started to walk away, then suddenly remembered something and turned around.  "You wouldn't happen to be related to a B.J. Hunnicutt, would you?" he asked.  "There's a Captain B.J. Hunnicutt on this Leap, and …"

"Hunnicutt's not a common last name?" Erin suggested.  "Yes, B.J.'s my father."

"Did he ever mention a Corporal Walter O'Reilly?"

Colonel Hunnicutt broke out into a grin.  "Uncle Radar?"  She had always referred to the members of the 4077th as _aunt _or _uncle._  "Sam leaped into Radar?"  _This should be interesting,_ she thought.  She nodded a _goodbye_ to the admiral and stepped into the Waiting Room.

* * *

MASH 4077th 

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 5, 1952

"Clamp." … "Scalpel."  … "Close this for me."  … "Yes, doctor."  The O.R. was filled with the sounds of doctors' orders and banter, and with the scraping of equipment.

            Sam handed Colonel Potter a clamp and watched the old man remove a piece of shrapnel from a young GI's stomach.  It took most of his energy to keep himself from jumping up and helping the surgeons.  He peered over the colonel's shoulder and swallowed.  "This kid could start a metal factory," he said.

            "Let's quit the war and start our own factory," B.J. suggested.  

            "That's what I've said all along," Hawkeye piped in.  Sam didn't have to look up to know that the doctor was leaning against the edge of the gurney.

            "Margaret, you can be forewoman," B.J. told the head nurse.  "Suction."

            Margaret complied with the captain's request.  "Thank you, doctor.  That's very kind of you."

            "You folks can conjure up this _factory_ of yours after we get these boys to Post-Op," Potter broke in.  

            Hawkeye laughed weakly.  "We've already got the equipment," he said.  "All we need now is …" He squinted and took a shaky step back.  "I need some air," he gasped.  He clutched his head, either not remembering or not caring that he was wearing bloodied surgical gloves.  He wobbled to the door and got sick on the grass.

            "Hawkeye, what's wrong?" Margaret asked when he returned to the O.R.  Coming from her, the question seemed more like an order.

            Hawkeye managed to plaster a smile on his ashen face.  "N-nothing, M-Margaret," he stammered.

            "Headache?" Charles asked.

            "J-just a little p-pain," Hawkeye admitted.  "I'm f-fine."

            "Bull crackers!" Colonel Potter bellowed.  "You look 'bout ready to pass out."  His voice softened.  "Why don't you go rest for a bit?  We got business here under control."

            Sam and Klinger helped the captain change out of his surgical clothes and brought him to a tent called the _Swamp_.  When the trio entered, Sam began to understand how the place got its name.  With the piles of dirty clothes spread over the floor, _Pigsty _would have been just as appropriate.  

            "How long have you had this headache?" Sam asked for at least the third time since starting the Leap.  He pulled the blanket up to Hawkeye's chin.

            "On and off since this morning," Hawkeye whispered.  "Is it just me or is it really bright in here?"  He closed his eyes.

            _Turn off the lights,_ Sam mouthed to the cross-dressing corporal.  "You probably have a migraine," he told Hawkeye.  "Where's the pain located?"

            Klinger threw a _Why am I doing this_ look Sam's way, but he complied with the order.  "Better, sir?" he asked.

            Hawkeye lifted his head and moaned.  Sam placed his hands behind the man's head and gently eased the captain back onto the pillow.  "Lie still and don't move," he instructed Hawkeye.  _Still too much light in here,_ he decided.  Even with his Swiss-cheesed mind, he knew how to treat a migraine.  Total darkness was a key element.  "Draw the shades," he told Klinger.  "And get me some damp washcloths."  He placed the back of his hand on Hawkeye's forehead.  _Hot and sweaty … cold hands._  "You've got a fever."

            " So that's what it is," Hawk mused.  "I thought my head was turning into an oven.  Go back to the O.R.," he commanded the corporals.  "I'll be alright."  

            Sam ignored him.  "Captain, I think you should see a doctor."

            "I _am_ a doctor," Hawkeye replied.  "I'll just take two aspirins and call myself in the morning." 

            "That might be too late," a gravelly voice announced mournfully.

            _What do you mean?_ Sam mouthed to the holographic observer.  

            Al fiddled with an unlit cigar.  "He's found dead tomorrow morning," he told the leaper.  "Meningitis."


	3. A Leap a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

Author's Rambling

                When I am describing the thoughts of someone at the MASH 4077th, I refer to Sam as Radar (they see Radar, so it would be futile to call him 'Sam').  Hope I haven't confused anybody.

MASH 4077th 

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 5, 1952

            _Meningitis?  _Sam whispered under his breath.  He stole a glance at Hawkeye; the captain was too busy scrunching his face to pay any attention to a company clerk who talked to himself.

            The hologram nodded.  "In the original history, Hawkeye Pierce never told anybody he was feeling under the weather.  Tonight, Major Winchester was … will be on Post-Op duty."  After all these years, it was difficult for the two of them to discuss the past in terms of the future.  Al coughed and continued.  "The rest of the staff spent the night at Rosie's Bar.  That's a bar in the area these people frequent.  From what I've heard, Rosie's a real sweetheart," he explained.  Sam raised his eyebrows, but Al pretended to be interested in the blinking hand link.  "Hunnicutt didn't come back to the camp until 2:30 a.m."  

            "And he found …" Sam gestured to the sleeping doctor, not wanting to say it out loud.  

            "On the floor, dead."  Al punched the hand link.  "The nozzle never said 'boo'.  They didn't expect him to die … at least not that way."

            This was the kind of moment that Sam wished he could physically hug his best friend.  He reached out his hand in a friendly gesture, but it just passed through Al's red suit.  The older man had survived plenty in his life, including being abandoned by his mother and his first wife, the death of his father, living in an orphanage, being a P.O.W., alcoholism, and five failed marriages.  But nothing compared to going to the institution to rescue his sister … and learning that she had died from pneumonia a mere six months earlier.

            A tiny smile appeared on Al's face at Sam's attempted gesture of friendship.  "Thanks, kid," he said quietly.  Never one to openly show deep emotion, he immediately focused his attention on the hand link.  "B.J. Hunnicutt suffered a nervous break down and had to be discharged from the Army.  Margaret Houlihan turned to alcohol and is currently serving a life sentence for the drunk-driving related death of a single father and the paralyzing of his thirteen-year-old daughter."  Both leaper and observer winced.

            The door to the Swamp creaked open.  "I've got some damp cloths," Klinger announced, poking his head in.

            Sam nodded and waved the corporal inside.  Klinger handed him a wet washcloth, which was placed on Hawkeye's gray forehead.  

            "Max Klinger fought an opium addiction for many years.  In the present day, he's celebrating five years of sobriety."

            Sam turned to Klinger.  "Are they done with surgery yet?" he asked, even though he knew there was at least another two hours left.

            "Almost, I think," Klinger answered.  He pulled up a chair next to Hawkeye's bed and smoothed out his gown.  "He don't look too good."

            "We need to get Colonel Potter in here," Sam told him.

            Al pounded the hand link for information on the aging colonel.  "Nada, Sam.  Can't find anything on the colonel.  Dead by our time, that's for sure."

            Hawkeye opened one eye.  "Would you cut it out, you two?" he hissed.  "Just quit worrying about me and I'll be fine."

            "You're ill, sir," Klinger explained.  "The kid's right – you need to be checked out by Potter."

The captain glared at him.  "The hell I do!" he roared.  "Now get out of here before I shove your face in a lobster aquarium."

            Scarlett O'Hara's twin grabbed the quantum physicist by the arm and dragged him out of the tent.  "Geez!  Someone got off on the wrong side of the bed today," he grumbled.

            "Irritability," Sam muttered to himself.  "Fever, headache, rash, nausea … all the symptoms are there."

            "What symptoms?" Klinger asked.

            "I think Captain Pierce has meningitis," Sam explained.  

            Klinger laughed.  "I didn't know you were a doctor, kid."

            Sam bit his tongue to keep from commenting.  "Someone I knew back home had meningitis," he lied.  "Hawkeye has some of the same symptoms.  And even if he doesn't have that, he has something – and he needs to examined," he concluded.

            Al typed probabilities into the hand link.  "By alerting Colonel Potter, Hawkeye receives treatment …" his bushy eyebrows rose in disgust.  "… And lives for an extra twenty-six hours."

            Sam shook his head and opened the door to the O.R.

"What's wrong?" Klinger wanted to know.  "You worried about Captain Pierce?"

"Kind of," Sam admitted.  _And the fact that I can only save his life by one day._

* * *

"Are you free tonight?"

        Leah Brighton removed her nightgown from the clothesline and turned to the muscular major standing behind her.  "I've got Post-Op duty," she answered as she folded the nightgown.

            "Oh no you don't, Nurse," Major Theodore Davis smirked.  "I just had a chat with Major Houlihan.  Baker has Post-Op duty."

            Leah felt herself tense up.  "What do you want?" she sighed.

            Davis glared at her.  "Don't you dare use that tone with a superior officer!" he barked.

            "Sorry, sir," she muttered.  

            He patted her rear.  "That's quite all right, Baby," he said gently.  

            She noticed herself jumping slightly.  As the youngest nurse at the 4077th, she was used to the moniker.  Most people called her "Baby" with affection, but hearing the name slip from Major Davis's mouth frightened her.  She bit her lip as he massaged her back.  "Meet me at Rosie's Bar at eight," he whispered in her ear.  "Drinks are on me."

            "I can't, sir," she said.  "I've got plans," she quickly added.  She placed the nightgown in the basket and started folding a shirt.  

            He planted a kiss on her cheek.  "Cancel them," he ordered.  She held her breath as he brushed an unruly chestnut brown curl off her forehead.  "Or I'll write you up for disobeying your superior."

            He kissed her other cheek and walked away.  She didn't stop trembling until he was out of view, and it took her nearly ten minutes to start breathing normally again.  With shaky hands, she gathered up the remainder of her laundry and headed toward the nurses' tent.  _Why am I so upset?_ She wondered.  _I asked for it – I didn't try hard enough to push him away.  I should have listened to Aunt Hannah.  She warned me about these soldiers before I signed up to be a nurse.  But did I listen?  Noooo!  I had to act like an adult and …_  A collision between two human bodies, the feel of mud on her back, and the sight of freshly laundered clothes soaring through the air ripped Leah away from her thoughts.  She looked to her left and saw the short, bespectacled company clerk brushing himself off.

            "I'm sorry about that," he said, offering her his hand to help her up off the ground.  He bent down and started to rescue her clothes from the Korean mud.

            "It was my fault," she replied.  She swallowed the lump rising in her throat.  "I wasn't watching where I was going."

            "What's wrong?" Radar asked.  

            "Nothing's wrong," she answered, attempting to plaster a tiny smile on her face.  She realized her eyes were moistening and brushed her sleeve over them to hide the evidence.  

            "Are you sure?" he pressed.  "You'll feel better if you get it off your chest."

            "I'm fine!" she snapped.  She roughly grabbed the rest of the clothes and stormed into the Nurses' Tent, leaving the tiny corporal in the dust.

* * *

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 11, 2002

            "At ease, Corporal," Admiral Calavicci ordered.  The chubby young man relaxed.  "How long have you been known as 'Radar'?" he inquired.

            "Nearly all my life, sir," Radar answered.  "I can tell things before they happen," he explained.

            "When I first started out in the Navy, my nickname was 'Bingo'," Al told him.

            "Were you a champion player, sir?"

            _This kid's more naïve than Sam was,_ Al thought.  "I earned it by doing the _bingo bango bongo_ with a set of triplets."  He grinned lecherously at the memory.

            Radar looked bewildered.  "Bingo … bango …"

            "Bongo.  You know … sex.  You ever do the bingo bango bongo with a nurse?"  He whistled.  "They make the best lovers.  They'll make your temperature rise and give you some T.L.C. you won't forget."

            The leapee blushed.  "I'm just a kid, sir," he stammered.

            "How old are you?"

            "Twenty next month, sir."  

            "How long have you been over in Korea?"

            "Two years, sir."  He tugged at the tight-fitting Fermi suit.

            Al glanced at his wrist link.  "Government regulations," he explained.  "I hear you're from Iowa.  Got a farm?"

            "I've lived on a farm all my life."

            "My best friend grew up on a farm in Indiana."

            "Does he still live there?" the corporal asked.

            "No, he's leaping around somewhere," Al told him.  "Radar, what can you tell me about a Nurse Leah Brighton?"

            "Aw, geez," Radar moaned.  "I just finally remembered my birthday."

            "Side effect of your experience," Al said.  "Do you remember Leah Brighton?"

            "I talk to her sometimes," Radar said.  "I think something's got her upset."

            "Do you know what that something is?"

            He shook his head.  "She won't tell me."  He looked up at the admiral.  "I think it's got something to do with Major Davis," he guessed.  "She gets the shakes every time he comes around, and he gives me the creeps.  I know I'll sure be glad when his unit gets discharged from the hospital."

            _Damn, the kid was right._  Before he left the Imaging Chamber, Sam had asked him to check on the upset nurse they had met.  _Sam and his instincts._  He typed Leah Brighton's name into his wrist link and waited for Ziggy to retrieve the requested information.

            "Excuse me, sir, when can I go back to my unit?" Radar asked.

            "As soon as possible," Al replied.  _Although if I were in your shoes, the question would be _When can I go back to Iowa. 

            "My goat's got a urinary tract infection," he told the admiral.  "I gotta give him his medicine at four."

            "Don't worry, Corporal," Al assured the young man.  "Your goat's being taken care of."

            Radar breathed a sigh of relief.  "What about Captain Pierce?"

            "What about him?" Al echoed.

            "I know I'm no doctor, but he looked kinda green this morning."  He tapped his foot on the floor.  "Said it was just a bad hangover."  He looked up at Al.  "Can people get hangovers when they're not drunk?"

            "Hawkeye Pierce is in good hands," Al told him.  _I hope._

            The Waiting Room door slid open, revealing Lieutenant Colonel Erin Hunnicutt.  Admiral Calavicci, being used to the sound, hardly noticed the door open.  Corporal O'Reilly jumped back a step.

            "Colonel," Al greeted the woman.

            "Admiral," she replied.  She turned to Radar.  "Well, Corporal, you're in fine shape."

            "Thanks, ma'am," he answered.

            "Just rest easy," she instructed him.  "I compiled a list of treatments for Sam to use on the captain," she whispered to Al.

            Ziggy's sultry voice broke into the room.  "Colonel Hunnicutt, you're needed in the cafeteria."

            "Someone have food poisoning again?" she asked.  "We really gotta find another cook."

            Radar's mouth dropped open.  "I know that name!" he exclaimed.  "Where do I know that name from?"  He rubbed his cheek and paced.  "Captain Hunnicutt!" he suddenly blurted out.  "Captain B.J. Hunnicutt."  He turned to Erin.  "You guys related?"

            "Yes, B.J.'s my … he's my …" Erin stammered.  

            _Don't say it,_ Al mouthed.  As far as the kid in the Waiting Room was concerned, Erin Hunnicutt was a toddler living in California – not a chief surgeon at a top-secret government project in New Mexico.

             "He's my cousin," she finished.

            "We'll be back later to check up on you," Al told Radar.  "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

            "That was strange," Erin said once they were out of the Waiting Room.  "I've never had a conversation with a family friend from the past like that."

            "You get used to these situations," Al explained.  "I've met Sam Beckett at sixteen, and I had a three hour conversation with Bingo."

            They walked toward the elevators.  "I thought you were Bingo," Erin said.

            Al grinned.  "Sam leaped into me when I was an ensign."

            "You know something, I might be able to get hold of Radar.  The Radar in our time," she added.  The elevator door opened and she stepped inside.  "I'll see what I can find out about Nurse Brighton's situation."


	4. Bigfoot and the Poker Game

Copyright and Author's Rambling

                For all readers unfamiliar with the several cast changes over the show's eleven season run:  Captain "Trapper" John McIntyre was Hawkeye's best friend and bunkmate before he was sent stateside and replaced by Captain B.J. Hunnicutt.  Colonel Henry Blake was C.O. of the 4077th until receiving his ticket home.  (Unfortunately, "… the plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan … there were no survivors.")  His job was taken over by Colonel Sherman Potter.  Major Frank Burns was the bunkmate and the nemesis of Hawkeye and Trapper (and later, Hawkeye and B.J.) and the not-so-secret lover of Major Margaret Houlihan.  When he suffered a breakdown, he was shipped home and replaced by Major Charles Winchester.

                You may be wondering, then, why this author would have the audacity to write Trapper, Henry, and Frank into the story.  Fear not, my friends – they are simply a part of Hawkeye's delirium.  Speaking of which, if the scene in Hawkeye's point-of-view fails to make sense – it's not supposed to.

                Of course, these men do not belong to me, but to Larry Gelbart (or whoever owns them).  Sam and Al belong to Don Bellisario.  If I try to claim otherwise, Radar won't let me hold his teddy bear.

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 12, 2002

            "I'll raise you five peanut M&Ms," Erin announced.  

            Al bit down on his unlit cigar and shoved some of his candy into the pile.  "Make that six peanut M&Ms and two bite-size Snickers."

            "Six peanut M&Ms and three bite-size Snickers," Verbena said as she used a well-manicured hand to push some of her chocolate loot into the pot.  

            Radar studied his cards and snorted.  "I raise you seven M&Ms, four bite-size Snickers, and one York Peppermint Patty."  _Ten of Spades, Jack of Spades, King of Spades, Ace of Spades, and Two of Hearts.  All I need is a lousy Queen of Spades and I'll have a royal flush._

            "Ever hear of something called 'Poker Face', kid?" Al asked.

            "Well, sure," he answered.  "Captain Pierce says I don't have one."

            "I'll say," Al muttered.  

            Erin pointed to the York Patty.  "You … you're giving that up?"

            Radar shrugged.  "I don't like peppermints," he explained.  "They make me nauseous."

            Erin turned to Al, an expression of mock horror on her face.  "He doesn't like York Patties," she gasped.  "What kind of person is he?"  She leaned over Radar, and met his gaze eye-to-eye.  "Any dolt who hates York Patties is un-American and should be shot."

            "I'll keep it if you want, but I don't wanna get vomit on your nice clean floor."  _Jesus, Joseph, and Mary! … Sorry, Father Mulcahy … These people are 'bout as crazy as the folks at the 4077th._  He'd never seen anyone, much less a U.S. Navy Admiral, dressed like Admiral Calavicci before.  With his plum suit, matching fedora, and silver satin shirt with the holographic circles, you'd never know that Al was an admiral.  _I wonder how he'd get along with Klinger._  He wasn't used to seeing female psychiatrists, especially black female psychiatrists, but Dr. Beeks seemed nice enough.  _She's got this calm way about her,_ he decided.  _I don't know what to make of Colonel Hunnicutt, but if she's related to B.J., she must be all right._

            Erin broke out into a grin.  "Relax, Radar," she said.  "I'm just teasing.  Two cards, please," she told the dealer.

            Al, the temporary dealer for this hand, exchanged her cards.  Radar thought he saw a flicker of disappointment pass over the colonel's face, but she managed to squash it.  

            "Three, thank you," Verbena said.

            "And for you, my good man?" Al asked.

            "One for me."  He handed over the Two of Hearts and took its replacement.

            The dealer exchanged his cards.  "Lay 'em out on the table," he ordered.

            Erin placed her cards facedown.  "I fold."

            "Full house," Verbena announced.

            Radar displayed his hand for the others to see.  "Royal flush."

            "Jeez Louise!" Al exclaimed.  He laid out his own cards.  "Three Kings."

            "Do you play poker much?" Erin asked.

            "It's the best way to earn money," Radar answered.  "Our camp chaplain plays to raise money for his orphanage."

            "Admiral Calavicci?" Ziggy's voice wafted throughout the Waiting Room.

            Al glanced up at the ceiling.  "What do you want, Ziggy?" he grumbled.

            "You're presence is needed in the Control Room," she answered.

            "By who?"  The older man appeared to be annoyed at the interruption.  "I was in the middle of a poker game, you bucket of bolts!"

            "Hey, now wait a minute here!" Radar shouted, jumping to Ziggy's defense.  "Company clerks do a lot of hard work to keep the camp organized," he informed the admiral.  "You shouldn't talk to that lady like that.  You could hurt her feelings."

            "I'm not a _company clerk_," Ziggy responded haughtily.  "I'm a parallel hybrid computer."

            Radar wrinkled his forehead.  "A para- who?" he asked.  _Maybe she's trying to get a Section 8 like Klinger._

            "You ever meet someone with a large ego?" Al wanted to know.  He nodded.  "Take the size of their ego … and triple it."  He waved his cigar toward the ceiling.  "You get Her Royal Highness."  He stood up.  "Congratulations, kid," he said, and patted Radar on the back before exiting the room.

            Dr. Beeks looked at her watch.  "It's almost one in the morning.  We probably should get going, too," she told Colonel Hunnicutt.

            "Will I be able to go back to my unit tomorrow?" Radar inquired.  As much as he enjoyed playing poker with these people, it wasn't the same as being with the gang back at the MASH.

            "Verbena yawned.  "We'll get you back to the MASH 4077th as soon as possible," she assured him.

* * *

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 5, 1952

The rocks felt slippery beneath Hawkeye's bare feet.  Any other time, he would have found the ocean to be peaceful, but now the waves crashing against the Maine shoreline were increasing an already severe headache.  In the distance, an Army-issued cot and the Still were floating over the water.  He rubbed his neck to get rid of the stiffness, but he could only raise his arm for a fraction of a second before dropping it to his side.  He stumbled toward the edge of the cliff and allowed the waves to rise up and cradle his exhausted body.  A door slammed, and the Maine seashore melted into the drab Swamp.

"Stick a pin in it!" Captain "Trapper" John McIntyre shouted to his lipless companion as they entered the Swamp.

"Hi, Frank," Hawkeye slurred.

"Goodbye, Frank," Trapper said as he waved.

Major Frank Burns grunted.  "Don't you wish!"

Trapper knelt down next to his friend.  "The ground comfortable enough for you, Hawk?"

Hawkeye sighed.  "Feels like I'm sleeping in white satin sheets at a five star hotel."

"Got a girl with you?"  

Hawkeye grinned at the image of Trapper's image merging with the water.  "Of course," he told him.  "Big eyes, big lips, big hands, big breasts …"

Frank stomped his foot on the floor.  "Pierce, you disgust me," he sneered.  "Get up off the floor, you good-for-nothing coot!"  

Hawkeye glared at his nemesis.  "Frank, if I wasn't as opposed to violence as I am, I'd wrap my hands around your neck and strangle you."

Burns folded his arms across his chest.  "Well, phooey to you!" he responded.

"Get the hell out of my sight before I shoot you," Pierce warned.

Trapper cleared his throat.  "Violence doesn't solve problems," he reminded his tent-mates.  "Haven't we learned that little lesson by now?"  

"I'm gonna kill you, Frank," Hawkeye screamed.  "If you don't get the fuck out of here, you're dead!"

* * *

            Captain B.J. Hunnicutt planted a size thirteen shoe into the dirt.  "What do you mean, you can 'beat me at anything'?" he said firmly.  "I can play chess just as well as anyone."

            The balding Major snickered.  "As well as Pierce?"  He shook his head.  "Hunnicutt, Hunnicutt, Hunnicutt," he sighed.  "You and Pierce just don't have what it takes.  A person needs skill.  Precision.  Strategy."

            B.J. cocked his head and caught Charles' eyes.  "Wanna bet?"  After six hours in the O.R. (fifteen minutes spent assuring Radar and Klinger that Hawkeye's headache would go away faster if they didn't worry so much), even the stuffy Bostonian's opera music sounded inviting.         

Charles raised himself up to his full height.  "Best two out of three wins," he said.  They approached the Swamp.  "If I win, you have to …" He stopped short in the doorway.

            "Do you mind not blocking traffic?" B.J. asked as he collided into his bunkmate.  "You could cause an accident."  His voice trailed off when he saw what the major was staring at.  "Hawkeye!" he shouted to the crumpled form laying facedown on the floor.  "Someone get a litter!" he called out.

            The two surgeons knelt beside their fellow bunkmate.  He was mumbling in incoherent sentences, but B.J. could make out the words _kill _and _Frank._

            Charles checked Hawkeye's pulse.  "Pierce, I'm surprised at you," he quipped.  "For an avowed man of peace, you most certainly have a violent streak."

            "Go ahead, Frank!" Hawkeye growled.  "Complain to Henry.  See if I care – see if he even cares."  His thrashing made it difficult for the doctors to turn him onto his side.

            "He's not unconscious," Charles stated.  "But he seems a bit delirious."

            B.J. rolled his eyes.  "What gave it away?"

            Hawkeye waved his arm and hit B.J. in the leg.  "Aw, come on, Henry!" he pleaded to an invisible person.  "It's not my fault if Ferret Face here can't take a death threat."  

            "Who's 'Ferret Face'?" Charles inquired.

            "Frank Burns – the idiot you replaced," B.J. said.  He noticed the rash on his best friend's hand and did a closer inspection.  

            "Trap, look!" Hawkeye suddenly yelled.  He pointed to B.J.

            "What are we looking at, Pierce?" Charles asked dryly.  "I don't see anything exciting around here."

            "It's Bigfoot!" he exclaimed.  He struggled to sit up, but his tall friend pushed him back down.

            _Great, I'm Bigfoot now,_ B.J. said to himself.  "Relax, buddy," he instructed the delirious man.  _Hawk, you're scaring me._  He'd seen his friend go out of his head before, but never as bad as right now.

            "Henry, I don't feel so good," Hawk moaned.  "I think I'm gonna be sick."

            B.J. repositioned the captain's head to prevent him from choking on his vomit.  "Too late for that," he informed him.  "You're already sick."

* * *

            Except for three or four patients conversing amongst themselves and Major Houlihan doing the routine checkups, Post-Op was fairly quiet.  Charles directed the corpsmen to an empty cot in the corner, and B.J. walked over to Houlihan.

            "I've got an offer you can't refuse," he said.  He leaned over her shoulder and skimmed over the chart she was holding.  "Private Dawson … swallowed a hardware store."

            "Captain, in case you haven't noticed, I'm very busy," Margaret said.

            He folded his arms across his chest and attempted to sound cheerful.  "How would you like the honor of taking Hawkeye's temperature?"

            She looked up.  "What are you talking about?"

            He nodded his head in the direction of their friend, who was being placed onto the cot.  Margaret covered her mouth and let out a gasp.

            "Is he all right?" she asked.

            "We don't know," B.J. replied.  "Winchester and I found him on the floor of the Swamp."  He began to pace in front of the private's cot.  "He's burning up with a fever, has a rash all over his hands and his neck, and he's already vomited twice."  He rubbed a hand over his mustache.  "Plus, he's completely delirious."  His conversation with Radar and Klinger in the O.R. came rushing back to him.   _He's got the classic symptoms of meningitis – someone should take a look at him. …Relax, Radar.  He's probably got a bad hangover – it'll pass._

            Margaret saw his worry and patted his arm.  "I'm sure he's going to be just fine," she assured him.  She was trying to sound confident, but she wasn't fooling B.J.  "Maybe Radar was wrong.  Maybe he's just got a fever."

            He watched silently as his ashen-faced buddy thrashed around and called out for the deceased colonel he never had the honor of meeting.  Just this once, he hoped old "Hot Lips" Houlihan was right.

            __


	5. Silent Night

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 6, 1952

            "Thanks, um … Sparky," Sam told the person on the other line before disconnecting the phone.  He'd seen plenty of odd-looking telephones during his life and during the duration of his Leaps, but he couldn't seem to figure out the one that sat on Radar O'Reilly's desk.  The receiver was placed into what looked like a bag.  On top of that, there were all these buttons to keep track of.  He had almost bungled a telegram, and typed up the daily report in duplicate instead of the required triplicate.  _How does Radar do it?_ He wondered.  _I'd better take a crash course in Army clerk work before I ruin that man's career._  He quickly scanned over the machinery.  His photographic memory would recall the placement of each button – now he just needed Al to explain what those buttons meant.

            As if on cue, the Imaging Chamber door _whooshed_ open and Admiral Calavicci stepped into 1952.

            "I say it was Mrs. Plum in the foyer with the candle," Sam droned.

            "_Professor_ Plum," Al corrected.  He floated over to Radar's desk and peered over the physicist's shoulder.  "What are you doing?"

            "Trying to learn how to do Radar's job before he doesn't have any job left," Sam replied.  He turned to his friend.  "Where were you?   It's been over five hours."

            "Talking to the kid in the Waiting Room."  At Sam's look of distrust, Al continued.  "All right – we were playing poker."

            "Just you and Radar?"  He mentally recited the pattern of knobs on the machine against the wall.

            "Me, Radar, Verbena, and Erin."  Al pulled out a fresh cigar from his breast pocket.  "I tell you, Sam," he said as he lit the stogie, "he's pretty good."  He inhaled and sighed in content.   "Nothing like a good cigar."

            Dr. Beckett wrinkled his nose.  Even though the stench of the holographic cigar didn't affect him, he could swear he smelled something.  "How could you smoke those things?" he asked.  "They stink – and they put you at greater risk for lung cancer."

            "You can't smell it from where you are," Al said between puffs.

            "I've smoked these beauties for over twenty-five years," a voice said in a mid-Western drawl.  Leaper and observer looked up to see Colonel Sherman Potter standing in the doorway, his own cigar in hand.  "The smell doesn't affect me."

            "You're creating a tar factory inside your body," Sam informed the colonel.

            Al pointed his cigar toward the leaper.  "This isn't the time, Sam," he warned.

            "How's Captain Pierce?" Sam asked his – Radar's superior.

            "We finally got him to settle down," the colonel told him.  "He's being quarantined in the V.I.P. tent."

            "That's a smart move," Al said.

            "What's his temperature?"

            "104 degrees."  The older man shook his head.  "He's completely delirious – kept calling me 'General Steele' and insisted he wouldn't let me ship the four-oh-double seven to the front lines."

            At Sam's confused look, Al consulted the hand link for information.  "General Bartford Hamilton Steele visited the unit a few months before Colonel Potter arrived," he recited.  "He was called a five-star crack …" he pounded the device, causing it to emit a high-pitched wail.  "…Five-star crackpot," he corrected.  "He wanted to move the entire unit directly into the line of fire.  He also reprimanded Hawkeye Pierce for sending a chopper with recovering patients to Seoul."

            "Why?" Sam asked.

            Colonel Potter answered, thinking he was the one being addressed.  "Same reason Hunnicutt looks like Bigfoot – he's outta his head with fever."

            "The nozzle wanted to oversee the move," Al finished.

            "Did you finish the daily report?" the colonel asked.

            Sam handed the papers to him.  "Yes – in triplicate."

            "Radar, I don't understand it," Potter started to say.  "You of all people should know that the Army likes things done in _threes_."

            "I guess I'm a little worried about Captain Pierce."

            "Major Winchester is keeping watch.  You just get a good night's rest and let the doctors worry about Pierce," he ordered.

            Sam waited until the colonel exited Radar's office before turning back to his observer.  "What did you find out about that nurse?" he asked, referring to the girl he'd collided with earlier.

            "Nurse?" Al asked.  Finally, it clicked.  "Oh, yeah – Leah Brighton, otherwise known as 'Baby'.  She's having some trouble with a Major Theodore Davis."

            "The officer we saw her with?"

            "Radar thinks there's something bothering her, but she won't tell him anything.  He's guessing Davis, too.  He's the C.O. of the unit they treated a few days before you leaped in here."

            "What does Ziggy say?" 

            Al rattled the hand link.  "Tomorrow night – or tonight if you consider that it's after midnight already – Nurse Brighton fatally stabs Major Davis in the kitchen."

            "She looks so young," Sam whispered.

            "She's barely eighteen – she lied about her age to be able to enlist."

            "Do you know why she … she did it?" He stuck his head out the door and looked around for Radar's sleeping quarters.

            Al picked up on his friend's actions.  "Your bed is in here."  He gestured to the cot against the wall.  "Well, somebody's gotta answer those 2 a.m. phone calls."  He flicked some ashes from the tip of his cigar.  "And no, Ziggy hasn't been able to come up with any reasons," he said in response to Sam's question.  "She's found guilty of the murder, confesses, and is sent to the gas chamber."

            Sam cringed.  He vaguely remembered a Leap in which a young Al "Bingo" Calavicci perished in the gas chamber.  _I caused him to be killed,_ he thought mournfully.  One look at the man in the plum fedora reminded him that he had also fixed the situation.

            "You'd better hit the sack," Al advised.  "You'll be getting some casualties between two and five in the morning.  The people here need all the sleep they can get."

            Sam yawned in agreement.  "See if you can find anything else on Nurse Brighton."  He looked under the cot for Radar's pajamas.  "A teddy bear?" he asked incredulously as he pulled the worn-out stuffed animal from its hiding place.

            The admiral shrugged.  "Everybody has their own protection against the insanity," he told the leaper.  He pressed a button on the hand link and vanished, leaving Sam alone with the teddy bear.

* * *

            To the average person, the area that housed the Imaging Chamber appeared to be a large warehouse with seemingly bland and endless white walls.  There was no furniture or wall hangings.  Sometimes, during a particularly difficult Leap, Al would have a chair or a cot brought in, but that was it as far as the room's décor was concerned.  Leaper and observer were linked via their mesons and neurons, enabling Sam to see and hear Al in the form of a hologram.  When the I.C. was activated, the vast warehouse would suddenly be filled with the world of a past era.

            "Gooshie, center me on Baby!" he ordered the chief programmer.

            After nearly seven years of his life spent in the Imaging Chamber, there were some things that Al would never get entirely used to.  For starters, the swirling vortex of five decades of images that surrounded him when the I.C. was brought online always made him feel nauseous.  At times he would forget the fact that everything he saw was simply a holographic image to him.  Like right now, for instance.  Finding himself with his stomach in the middle of a night guard's rifle was enough to give him the heebie-jeebies.  He quickly got a hold of himself and walked through the guard.

            "I thought I told you to center me on Nurse Brighton," he grumbled.

            The hand link blipped.  He took it out of his pocket and read the message.  "Nurse Brighton is in the shower," Ziggy informed him.  

            Bushy eyebrows shot up in confusion.  "What's she doing taking a shower in the middle of the night?" he asked.  He shook his head and floated through the wall of the Nurses' Showers.

            Baby was pinned inside one of the stalls while Davis planted a hard kiss on her mouth.  "Leave me alone!" she hissed.  She tried to kick him, push him away, but he just laughed and kissed her again.

            "Get the hell away from her, you nozzle!" Al roared.  He tried to swing a punch at the major, but his arm went through the man's head.

            Davis used one hand to trap her and the other to grab her robe.  "You know you want this," he sneered.

            "Gooshie, center me on Sam!" Within two seconds, he was back in Radar's office.  "Sam!" he shouted.  The leaper was gently snoring.  _Damnit, Sam!  How could you even think of sleeping at a time like this?  _He leaned over his friend.  "Sam, wake up!" he yelled.

            Sam opened his eyes and rubbed his ear.  "Please don't scream in my ear like that, Al."

            The hologram motioned for Sam to get moving.  "That nozzle's trying to rape Baby!" he informed him.

            By now, the quantum physicist was fully awake.  "Where are they?" he inquired.

            "He's got her trapped in a shower stall."  

            Sam threw on a robe and Radar's glasses and ran out the door, not bothering to put any shoes on.  Al floated along next to him shouted for him to hurry.

            "Go stay with Baby," Sam ordered.

            Al repositioned himself into the Nurses' Showers.  "Help is on its way, kid," he informed the young nurse.

            By this time, Baby had given up fighting and lay like a statue while the major kissed her.

            "You should be ashamed of yourself, you nozzle," Al snarled.  "You're lucky I'm just a hologram.  If Sam doesn't murder you – I sure as hell will."  When it came to watching women undress or eavesdropping on a private conversation, being a hologram had its advantages.  But right now, he wanted to physically attack the nozzle, not float through his body.  "Sam, where the hell are you?"

            Suddenly, Baby's eyes widened and she glanced straight ahead.  Davis was too busy fumbling with the buttons on her nightgown to notice the expression on the nurse's face or the hand that came crashing onto his shoulder.

            Al let out a deep breath.  "Finally!"  

            Sam roughly yanked the major's arm and pulled him onto his feet.  Nurse Brighton took this opportunity to crawl between their feet and escape from the showers.  The officer's mouth dropped open when he realized his attacker was nothing more than the tiny company clerk.  Sam wasted no time in punching him in the jaw.  Davis swung back, but Sam moved his head out of the way.  

            "Sam, watch your left!" Al shouted.  

            Sam blocked the officer with what he and Al referred to as a _flying noodle-kick._

 The observer mimicked the leaper's actions and yelled obscenities at the _nozzle._  

            "What in Sam's hill is going on in here?" a familiar voice shouted.  

            All three men turned to the door, where an apparently angry and half-asleep Colonel Potter stood.  B.J., Klinger, and Margaret were behind him.  Davis held Sam in a headlock.

            "Flip him over!" Al instructed. 

            Sam complied and flipped the officer onto his back.  B.J. grabbed Major Davis and Klinger grabbed Sam, but the two men continued to throw punches at each other. 

            "Take it easy, kid," Klinger said.

            Margaret surveyed the damage they had done to the shower tent.  "Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded to know.  "You'll pay for this."

            Colonel Potter approached the two foes.  "Will someone please tell me what in tarnation is going on here?" 

            Davis answered first.  "This corporal punched me!"  He glared at Sam.  "You'd better pray I don't press charges."

            "That nozzle tried to rape a nurse," Al shot back.

            The group looked at Sam in disbelief.  Al couldn't blame them – he couldn't picture someone like Radar fighting like that.  B.J. and Margaret examined their wounds.

            "Contusion under the left eye, cut lip, possible swelling," Sam informed the medical staff.  He nodded his head in Davis's direction.  "Broken nose, black eye, minor concussion."

            "Corporal, let the doctor do his job," the colonel snapped.  He eyed the fighters.  "I want you boys to report to my office in ten minutes."


	6. Calm Before the Storm

Author's Rambling

            I made two insignificant changes to my earlier chapters.  The first one is I changed the spelling of B.J.'s last name from H-U-N-I-C-U-T to H-U-N-N-I-C-U-T-T.  I've seen his name spelled a variety of ways, and I wasn't sure which way was correct.  Since his name is spelled with two _t_'s in "The Interview" and "Our Finest Hour," I decided to switch to that spelling.  The other change is in the previous chapter.  Originally, I had Hawkeye quarantined in Margaret's tent, but I've moved him to the V.I.P. tent instead.  Oh, and Elvis is still dead, eating raw eggs can give you salmonella, the earth is round, and Colonel Potter is threatening to court-martial me if I don't shut my yap and continue with the story.

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 6, 1952

Colonel Sherman Potter slammed his fist against the desk.  "Alright, boys, I don't want to have to repeat myself.  What the hell is going on here?"

Sam glared at the smug major.  "Why don't you ask Major Davis?" he challenged.

"Davis?" 

"Aw, c'mon, Colonel," the officer protested.  "The corporal punched a superior officer."

Al snorted.  "If that's a 'superior officer,' then I'm a horse's ass."

"Radar, care to explain yourself?" the colonel asked.  Sam nodded.  "Good."

"He was going to rape a nurse," Sam told his C.O.

Potter raised his eyebrows.  "That's a pretty serious accusation, Corporal."

"I caught him trapping her in one of the stalls."  Figuring the colonel would want an explanation for his being in the Nurses' Showers, he tried to conjure one up.  "I took a walk because …"

            "What in tarnation were you doing near the Nurses' Showers at 1:30 in the morning?"

            "… I couldn't sleep," Sam continued.  _I must be getting some of Radar's "radar," he decided._  "I heard noises coming from the showers so I went in to investigate."  He hoped that his explanation would suffice.

            "What kind of noises?" 

            "It sure as heck wasn't someone taking a shower," he said.  "And if people were, you know, doing something private, somebody sure wasn't happy about it."  He realized he was probably blushing.  _This kid's more of a prude than I ever was._

            "Mind telling me what nurse you're referring to?" the elderly colonel pressed.

            "Nurse Brighton," Sam responded.  "This … I don't think this was the first time."  He ignored the daggers the major's eyes were throwing toward him.

            "Nurse Brighton is my girlfriend," Davis lied.  He glared at the man he assumed was a corporal.  "O'Reilly barged in on us and scared her away."     

            Al repositioned himself until he was eye to eye with the major.  "You're a slime ball if I ever saw one," he hissed.

            Potter leaned forward.  "I want you boys to listen carefully," he instructed.  "If there's any more fights …"

            "The corporal should be court-martialed for attacking me!" Davis interrupted.

            "… You'll both be court-martialed," he finished.  "There's enough violence in this god-forsaken war without you adding to it."

            "Next time you even think about punching me …" Davis began.

            "Stay away from Nurse Brighton and we won't have to worry about that," Sam replied harshly.

            "Dismissed!" Potter roared.

* * *

"Rise and shine, kiddies!" the sardonic announcement was broadcast all over the camp.  "All teams of surgeons report to Triage.  This war doesn't work during normal daylight hours."

            Hawkeye struggled to sit up in bed, but found that someone or something was forcing him back down.  His foggy mind couldn't ascertain his location.  The only thing he could figure out was that he was sick in bed and a human-sized lobster was keeping watch.  Part of him wanted to believe that he was home with his parents in Crabapple Cove, Maine.  The other part knew that he was stuck in a MASH unit in Korea. 

            "I think I ate your brother," he confessed to the crustacean.  "I'm sorry."

            "I don't have any brothers," it answered in a stuffy Bostonian accent.  "I only have a sister Honoria."

            He took a moment to collect his wits.  "It talks?" He whispered.

            The lobster looked at him like he had a screw loose.  "Of course I talk," it replied indignantly.  

"I've never heard of a talking lobster before.  I don't think we've met," he said.  He extended his hand for the lobster to shake.  "Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, known to the world as 'Hawkeye'."

            "Major Charles Emerson Winchester III," the lobster responded.

            "Go back to sleep, Pierce," Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake ordered.

            "They said 'all teams,' Henry," he reminded the C.O.

            Henry shook his head.  "You're in no condition to do surgery," he told the captain.  

            Hawkeye turned to Charles for support.  "Could you tell Henry there's nothing wrong with me?" he requested.  "He thinks I'm too sick to do surgery.  Not that I obey his orders anyways," he added quietly.

            "Henry's right," the crustacean explained.  "You should get rest, Hawkeye."

            "I can't let Trapper and Henry handle the patients by themselves," he argued.  "Someone's gotta protect the patients from Ferret Face."

            "I'm sure the patients can protect themselves," it said dryly.  "You'll be one less cretin to worry about, I'm sure."

            "Don't worry about the patients," Henry said simultaneously.  "We've got everything under control."  Henry and the rest of the tent faded into the Pierces' backyard in Crabapple Cove.

            "Hey, wanna go play ball?" Hawk asked the lobster.  "My dad says he'll build me a basketball hoop if I get good grades this term."

            "Go to sleep, Pierce."

            He eventually fell into a restless sleep.  When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was an increased itching on his arms and legs.  He looked down and saw a horde of scorpions, beetles, and earthworms covering his body.  He tried to remove the slimy creatures, but every time he got rid of one, something far worse would suddenly appear.

            "Get them off!" he cried.  "Get them off of me!"  He thrashed around, screaming, until he felt something cool on his forehead.

            "Shhh, shhh," a woman cooed.

            "Mom?" he asked weakly.  "Mom, is that you?"

            "Everything's going to be alright," Betty Pierce assured her son.  She gently caressed his cheek, oblivious to the worms slithering in and out of her ears, mouth, and nose and the skeleton parading around the room in a fisherman's hat.

            Hawkeye recoiled in horror at the image in front of him and the memories that came rushing into his brain.  "Mom, you're dead!" he gasped.  "You shouldn't be here – you're dead."

            "And that' a problem, Pierce?"  It took a few minutes to connect Henry Blake's voice with the skeleton that hovered over his bed.

            Bits and pieces of Radar's announcement that afternoon surfaced.  _Plane … shot down over the Sea of Japan … no survivors._  He could hear someone screaming, but it sounded too far away to be himself.  

* * *

Margaret pressed the compress on Hawkeye's forehead.  The Captain tried to squirm away from her, but didn't get too far.

"Get them off me!" the patient cried out.  With her free hand, Margaret attempted to pin down the thrashing man.  "Calm down, Pierce," she ordered.  He ignored the command; that didn't surprise her in the least.

            "How is he?" B.J. asked as he entered the quarantined tent.  He donned the required surgical mask, as did Margaret.  Since they still weren't sure what was wrong with the chief surgeon, the masks were a necessity.

            "His fever went up to 104," she answered quietly.  She couldn't stand watching the chief surgeon in this state.  The sometimes immature, sometimes lewd, always there-when-you-needed-comfort surgeon/ comedian had been transformed into a semi-corpse with pallid skin and weak, stiff limbs.  When he wasn't vomiting or in a fit of restless sleep, he was living in a world of hallucinations and deliria.

            "We need to bring his temperature down," B.J. stated.

            Margaret could almost hear their friend retorting with a snappy wisecrack.  Instead, all they got was incoherent mumbling about Henry, his deceased mother, and vermin.  "It's been over twelve hours," she yawned.  "He's getting worse, not better."  

            The captain nodded grimly.  "I'll take over, Margaret," he told the head nurse.  "You look like you could use a break."

            She was too weary to argue.  Instead, she gave Hawkeye's hand a gentle squeeze and exited the tent.

* * *

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 12, 2002

            Lt. Col. Hunnicutt heard the high-pitched giggles before she even turned the corner.

            "Oooh, Al," Dr. Tina Martinez-O'Farrell squealed happily as Rear Admiral Calavicci smothered her in kisses.

Erin rolled her eyes and coughed.  Calavicci was notorious for being a ladies' man.  He had also developed the art of dodging angry husbands.  That was one trait that separated Al from Hawkeye Pierce.  While Pierce was a ladies' man as well, he had generally kept clear of women with little gold rings on their fingers.  As far as Erin knew, the pulse communications technician was a divorcée.  Another difference between her father's old friend and her current friend was their take on military attitude. Although Al Calavicci was more comfortable in a blinding yellow suit than in dress whites, he could act the severe Navy admiral when the occasion demanded.  Hawkeye Pierce, on the other hand, despised all things military.  Her father had mentioned that he'd never seen the captain give a genuine salute even once.  She coughed again.

            Al broke apart from the redheaded woman.  "Can I help you with anything, Colonel?"  He rubbed his eyes.

            "I was just on my way to check on Radar's vital signs," she answered.  She acknowledged Tina with a slight nod.  "Morning."

            "What time is it?" Tina asked.

            Erin glanced at her watch.  "Quarter to six."  She looked at the Admiral.  "We've got a busy day ahead of us," she informed her colleague.  "Get some sleep."

            "May I remind you that as Project Co-Director, you are under my command – not the other way around," he argued.

            "Ah, yes," Erin agreed.  "But as Project Chief Surgeon, it is my duty to prevent staff members from wearing themselves sick."  She lowered her voice.  "Besides, Bena promised to inject you with an anesthetic if you disobey the orders."

            Al groaned.  "Damn that shrink!"  

            "Excuse me, Admiral … Colonel," the parallel-hybrid computer interrupted.

            "What do you want, Ziggy?" Al snapped.

            "I predict an eighty-six percent chance that Major Davis' death and Captain Pierce's slip into critical condition will occur approximately twenty minutes apart," the sultry computer announced.

            "He's already in critical condition," the surgeon reminded the humanistic machine.

            "Colonel, is it possible for a human being to be physically present in two places at once?" Ziggy inquired.  The question wasn't that far-fetched.  One of Ziggy's many abilities included carrying on simultaneous conversations at once, in different rooms.

            "If it is, we haven't been notified," Al answered.

            Tina rested her hand on Al's arm.  "Is twenty minutes enough time for Sam to do what he needs to do?"

            "I'm not sure," he admitted.  

            "That's why you need all the rest you can get," Erin emphasized.

            Al grinned at his girlfriend.  "My place or yours?"

            Erin glared at Tina and shook her head.  "Separate quarters."


	7. If the Shoe Fits

Author's Rambling

                I'm sorry, folks, but this is the last update for a while.  I've got a research paper to finish up, and unfortunately, I've only got until the end of this month.  So instead of writing more chapters for this story, I'll be getting my ass in gear and typing up my paper.  So, folks, I hope you enjoy this chapter.  Right now it's 2:30 a.m. on Monday morning.  Major Houlihan just ordered me to report to my quarters and get a decent night's sleep (barring any casualties or one of Hawkeye Pierce and B.J. Hunnicutt's midnight pranks, of course).   Goodbye, farewell, and amen – for now.

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 6, 1952

            Colonel Sherman Potter gave his wife's photo the customary "good morning salute" and started skimming over the forms Radar had left for him to sign.  He was getting a bit concerned about his company clerk.  He hadn't been himself lately.  _That boy always was sensitive, but he'd never hurt a fly, _Potter mused.  _What in the name of blessed Mary made him go off on Maj. Davis?_  He was almost always proficient, but Potter found himself having to remind him how to file a basic report.  To top it off, he was accusing officers of serious crimes and telling the doctors how to do their jobs.  _And he seemed unsure of how to work the telephone.  _The young, bespectacled clerk had told him he was worried about Captain Pierce.  _Son, we're all worried about Captain Pierce,_ the Colonel explained to him.  He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but he knew that wasn't the reason.  Radar had been acting strangely even before Hawkeye's near-collapse in the O.R.  Here was an Iowan farm boy spouting off intense medical knowledge, and he barely had a high school education.  A thought formed in his head, but he brushed it off.

            "Excuse me, Colonel?" Major Margaret Houlihan interrupted.

            The colonel glanced up at his head nurse.  "What can I do you for, Major?" he asked.

            "Radar said you needed to see me, sir," she answered.

            "I didn't ask to speak with you," he said, shaking his head.  _What is that boy doing?_  

            "I'll talk to you later then," Margaret said.  She turned to leave.

            "Hold it a minute, Major," Potter called out after her.  She stopped and turned around.  "Come to think of it, maybe I do need to have a word with you."  He beckoned to a chair.  "Please, sit down."  She complied.  He opened the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy.  "Care for some fire water?"

            "No thank you," she replied.

            "I had a chance to speak with Maj. Davis and Cpl. O'Reilly," he began.  "Radar told me the reason behind the whole fracas."  He took a sip of the brandy.  "It seems that Davis was bothering one of your nurses."

            Margaret raised an eyebrow.  "What do you mean, 'bothering one of my nurses'?  Which one?"  Even if the Major wasn't good at showing it, she cared deeply about the ladies under her command.  If anything happened to one of them, she felt personally responsible.

            "Leah Brighton," he answered.  "According to Radar, the major tried to rape her."

            "Rape?" she gasped.  Collecting her wits, she said, "That's a serious accusation."

            "That was my response," Potter told her.  "But if I know Radar, he's not one to make up wild stories."  He paused.  "Sure, he'd fib to get a job done or to help the surgeons pull a prank …" He slammed his fist on the desk.  "…but he'd never make up anything that harsh."  _And he'd never attack anyone – let alone an officer – without due cause._  "Have you noticed anything between Brighton and Davis?" he inquired.

            "I've seen them talking sometimes," she said.  "But I don't pay attention to what they say."

            "Davis claims they're a couple."

            Margaret shook her head.  "Believe it or not, I listen to my nurses' gossip.  Those two are definitely not paired together.  I'll have a talk with Brighton and see what I can find out."

            The C.O. grinned.  "Major, you've read my mind."

            She smiled back.  "Let's hope that's not habit forming," she said as she stood up to leave.  "I don't care to become a mind reader."

            "One 'Radar' is more than enough for this outfit," Potter agreed.  _Heaven knows we don't need to read Captain Pierce's dirty thoughts about the nurses._  "Major, how's Hawkeye?" he asked as she stuck her foot out the door.

            She looked at the floor, and then quickly averted her eyes back to the colonel.  "Not good," she replied softly.  "Hunnicutt's with him now."  She blinked hard.  _If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she's about to cry,_ Potter said to himself.  But Margaret didn't cry.  She took a deep breath then continued with the update on the chief surgeon.  "His fever's 104 degrees – he's completely delirious."

            "Have those rashes been checked out yet?"

            "Radar keeps insisting he's got meningitis."

            Potter gulped down the last of the brandy.  "Let's pray not.  Tell Hunnicutt and Winchester to run some more tests.  That will be all, Major.  Dismissed."

* * *

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 12, 2002

            "Radar, can you tell me where …" Dr. Verbena Beeks started to say.

            "Nurse Brighton spends her time off reading on a blanket behind the Nurses' Tent," the tiny corporal answered before she finished asking the question.

            "Um, thank you," Verbena replied.  

            He swung his legs over the table.  "Are you sure she's gonna be alright?" he asked.  "I'm real worried about her."

            "Care to enlighten me?"  The boy looked confused, so she clarified the question.  "What makes you worry about Nurse Brighton?"

            "Gee, I don't really know.  Major Houlihan usually has to give her a direct order to bite her tongue.  I mean, gosh, she's not the biggest chatterbox in the camp, but she's not shy either.  Now I can hardly get her to say two words before she bites my head off."

            "Go on," Verbena pressed.  Her watch read 11:35 a.m.  _I'll grab some lunch after I'm done speaking with Radar,_ she decided.  _Not that cafeteria food appeals to me._

            "I saw Major Davis hanging around her once – she didn't look too happy about it.  I asked her if something was wrong, but she just …"

            "Just what, Radar?" the psychiatrist asked.  "How did the nurse respond?"

            The leapee didn't hear her.  Instead, his attention was focused on the ceiling.  He held up a hand to cease any further questioning.  "Choppers," he mumbled.  He stood up and raced to the door of the Waiting Room.  Finding it locked, he turned back to Dr. Beeks.

            "No choppers here, Corporal," she told him.  "You're in a safe place – we're nowhere near the war."

            He seemed to accept that, and returned to the mirrored table.  _Should I inform him of his situation?_ She wondered.  Every leapee was different.  Some people believed they'd died and gone to heaven, and others were convinced they'd been abducted by aliens.  Some of the leapees were at PQL for such a brief amount of time that telling the truth would have been fruitless.  For others, the truth would increase their already unstable mentality.  From her observations, the younger the leaper the easier it was to convince them.  _Radar's not a child, but he's got an air of innocence,_ she decided.  _Besides, he might be more useful to us if he knows what's going on._

            "You're darn right I'm not a child!" he snapped.  He pulled himself up to his full height (which, of course, wasn't much).  "I'm almost twenty-years-old."

            Verbena was taken aback.  "You really _do _read minds," she whispered.

            Radar nodded.  "I can handle the truth," he assured her.  "You should've seen some of the crazy stunts we've pulled at the 4077th.  If you're gonna tell me I've traveled in time and switched places with a Don Quixote …" 

            The psychiatrist had to pry her feet to the floor to keep from doing her own "Leap" into the air.  "You've switched places with a friend of mine," she explained.  "He travels back in time …"

            "To put right what once went wrong."

            "Yes, he changes history for the better," she continued.  "But instead of simply going into the past, he leaps into someone's life.  That person leaps into the future – into the Waiting Room."

            "Are you saying he pretends to be somebody else?  Like a disguise?"

            "You could say that."  _This was easier than I expected._

            "People aren't dumb, ya know," Radar informed her.  "We already got a Colonel Flagg from C.I.D. trying to pull of cockamamie disguises.  We can see through each and every one of them.  And I don't think your friend looks anything like me."  He scratched his chin.  "Unless he's my long-lost cousin or something."

            Verbena couldn't help smiling at that sentiment.  "Actually, Sam grew up on a farm – just like you," she added.

            "No kidding.  Where?"

            "Elk Ridge, Indiana."  _Maybe I shouldn't have disclosed that piece of information._  "And he's just as innocent, hardworking, and caring as you are."

            "Does he look like me?"

            _Time for the usual leaping procedure,_ she said to herself.  "Radar, I want you to look down at the table."

            He started to argue, but decided it wasn't worth the effort.  She had to hold her arms out to keep him from falling off the table.  "Gee, that doesn't look like me," he gasped once he got himself rebalanced.  

            "What you are seeing is Sam's aura," she explained.  "Sam is surrounded by your aura back in 1952 Korea.  To people back home, he looks and sounds exactly like you."

            "When he leaves the 4077th – gosh darn wish I could go with him," he muttered, "When he leaves, is he gonna come back here?"

            "I wish," she answered sadly.  "We don't control his Leaps.  God, Time, or Fate does.  He'll just leap into another time, another person's life."

            "Gee, doesn't he get lonely? Your friend's braver than I am – I could never do something like that.  Isn't there somebody he can talk to without having to pretend to be some stranger?"

            "Do you remember Al?"

            "The admiral in the crazy purple suit?"

            She laughed.  "That's the one.  He acts as an observer for Sam."  Any qualms about divulging too much information to the current leapee were immediately squashed.  _If he's as good a mind reader as they say, he'll figure it out eventually._  "He appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear."*

            "He sure wouldn't be hard to miss in Korea."

            "No, he wouldn't," she agreed, picturing Al in one of his bright-colored getups standing next to a MASH doctor wearing drab green.

            "I'm glad he's got someone he can count on," Radar said.  He thought for a moment and glanced at the psychiatrist.  "I'm no scientist, and I'm not a doctor neither, but is there anything I can do to help?"

            Verbena patted the boy on the shoulder.  "Thank you, Radar, but all you can do is wait here until Sam leaps out and you can return home."  She felt bad for the kid – telling Radar to "sit and wait" while there was work to be done was like telling a cat not to chase a mouse.  _Or Sam not to help a person in need._

            His brow furrowed.  "I wish there was some way to bring your friend home," he told her.

            "So do we all," she replied.  "So do we all."

            She exited the Waiting Room and proceeded to the Control Room.  "Ziggy?" she called.

            "Yes…" the parallel hybrid computer purred.

            "Where's Al?"

            "Admiral Calavicci is currently sleeping off what he calls a 'bingo bango bongo' section with Dr. Martinez-O'Farrell," the sultry computer replied.

            Verbena rolled her eyes.  "And I told Erin to give him direct orders to report to his own quarters for sleep."

            "He followed your orders, Dr. Beeks," Ziggy assured her.  "He did sleep in his own quarters – with Tina."

            "Can you tell me whether Sam can expect any choppers today?"

            "There were choppers at approximately 8:04 a.m. on June 6, 1952," Ziggy informed her.  "Although time occurs differently for Dr. Beckett than it does in the present time, I've managed to calculate …"

            "Just tell me what time the choppers arrived in the present," Verbena interrupted.  _Although "present" is such an inaccurate term in this profession._  For all they knew, while they were in this "present", traveling into the past, someone else from the future (their own present time), was traveling into their past (for PQL, the current time period).

            "About 11:39 a.m."

            Dr. Verbena Beeks let out a short gasp.

*  Taken from the Quantum Leap introduction.


	8. Is There a Doctor in the House

Author's Rambling

Attention, all personnel: the author has finished her paper and received a B in the course.  She had delayed updating the newest chapter in the hopes of making it worthwhile for the readers.  Reviews are appreciated (that's an order).

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 6, 1952

Colonel Sherman T. Potter skimmed over the requisition forms his company clerk had given him to sign.  "What am I putting my 'John Hancock' on this time?" he grumbled.

"We need to order mosquito netting," Corporal O'Reilly informed him.

"Coulda sworn we did that already."  He unwrapped a cigar and pressed it to his lips.  "Ah, nothing like a good stogie," he sighed.  He lit the other end and inhaled the aroma.

"They sent us ear muffs."  The company clerk wrinkled his nose at the stench of the cigar.  "I'll never understand what's so special about those things," he said.  "They're disgusting, they cause cancer, and they smell rotten."

Potter replied by blowing a puff of smoke.  "You don't know a good cigar when you see one," he said, tapping his pen against the signature line on the top form.  "In the summer, they send us ear muffs and wool jackets.  In the winter it's mosquito netting and lemonade."  Both colonel and corporal shook their heads at the Army's apparent lack of intelligence.  "Been this way for as long as I can remember."

"Did you – did we keep the mosquito netting they sent during the winter?" Radar asked. 

The colonel raised an eyebrow at the company clerk's odd inquiry.  "Don't you remember?  You signed off on the forms to exchange the netting for blankets," he reminded the young man.

"I remember, sir," Radar quickly answered.  "It's just that we'd probably save time and money if we kept the supplies."  He glanced at the myriad of forms on the Potter's desk.  "And we sure wouldn't be wasting time signing these exchange slips."

"I'll be up to my keister in paperwork till next Christmas," Potter groaned.

"I'm sure the war will be over by then," Radar assured his C.O.

"If the peace talks keep breaking down, we'll be here till the end of the decade."  _Should I broach the subject?_ The colonel wondered.  They had managed to avoid discussing Radar's "adventure" of the previous night.  _Something's bugging the boy – I know it._  He did a quick once-over of the other forms and added his signature and initials where required.  "Care to explain yourself?" he finally inquired.

The tiny corporal gave him a puzzled look.  "Explain what?" he asked.  "Sir."

"I've never pictured you the type that gets physical when angry," the old man commented.

"I didn't punch Maj. Davis because I was angry," Radar informed the C.O.

"Then why in the name of sweet fanny adams did you punch him?"

"Because someone was in danger – and he was the reason," Radar snapped.

Potter was taken aback by the normally quiet boy's rough tone.  "Easy now, son."  He gestured for the young man to calm down.  "You know better than to attack a superior officer."  He leaned forward.  "Not only that – you could've been seriously hurt."  _And that's the last thing I need right now._  "Next time there's a problem in my outfit, you'd darn well report it to me.  I don't want you taking the law into your own hands."  He took a puff of cigar.  "Do I make myself clear?"  No answer.  "That's an order, Corporal," he informed the young man.  Radar had stopped listening to Potter and was instead tuned to some invisible object near the door to the office.  "Earth to Radar," he called out.  "Come in, Radar."

A worried expression formed on the corporal's face.  "No!" he moaned.

"What's wrong, son?" Potter inquired.  "Choppers?"

Radar shook his head.  "Hawkeye's having a seizure," he informed the puzzled C.O. and abruptly left the office.

* * *

Sam tore open the flaps of the V.I.P.  Tent and rushed over to the ailing captain's cot. "Easy now," he whispered, gripping Hawkeye's convulsing body by the shoulders.  "Get me a spoon," he instructed Al.  The hologram raised a bushy eyebrow.  The leaper rephrased his request.  "Where's a spoon?" he asked.

"No spoons here," Al replied.  "What do you need a spoon for?"

"To keep him from swallowing his tongue," the doctor explained.

            "Will this tongue depressor help?" Al asked, pointing to the aforementioned object.

            Sam grabbed the tongue depressor and pressed it onto the captain's tongue with one hand.  With his other hand, he braced the man's body.  He vaguely remembered another Leap, another seizure.  _I was Bigfoot in that Leap … no, my host just happened to resemble Bigfoot.  _  

A hand tapped him on the shoulder.  "Alright, son, we'll take it from here."  Sam released Hawkeye and stepped back, allowing his Host's C.O. to approach the cot.  Colonel Potter shouted orders to a nurse as she entered the tent with Major Winchester and Father Mulcahy.

            "How's his presh …" Charles started to ask, but was left slack-jawed at the sight before him.  A look of fear turned into a look of anger when he noticed the "company clerk" had neglected to put on the required surgical mask.  "Are you mad, corporal?" he scolded.  "Put on a mask!"

            For some reason, those words made Sam tremble.  _Must be psycho-symerging with Radar,_ he reasoned.  One of the negative aspects of leaping was the merging of the minds, which meant that the leaper displayed thoughts and actions of the host.  One of the first and most problematic of these occurrences was his Leap into Lee Harvey Oswald.  Oswald had taken over his mind so completely that he nearly committed murder.  Psycho-symerging with a warmhearted person such as Radar was infinitely better than somebody like Oswald, but he still would rather be in his own body and in his own time.  __

            "Shame on you, Sam," Al teased in a droll voice.  "As a doctor, you should know better."  The observer was gnawing on the tip of an unlit cigar – a sure sign that he was worried about the current situation.

            "There wasn't any time," Sam explained to the major and the admiral.

            "Oh, my!" Mulcahy gasped.  He absent-mindedly tugged at his collar.

            Al noticed and cringed.  "Let's hope they don't need the padre for last rites," he commented.

            "Amen to that," Sam muttered.  A medical treatment for meningitis surfaced in the back of his mind, but he was drawing a blank on its name.  "I thought Hawk – you could use some help in the prayer department," he explained to the chaplain.  He watched as a nurse administered a shot into Hawkeye's arm.  Potter and Winchester hovered around the cot and worked to ease their friend and coworker out of his seizure.  "Now if only God – or Time – or Fate – would listen," he added under his breath.

            "He always listens to our prayers, my son," the chaplain assured the "company clerk."

            Sam gave the man a tiny smile in return then focused his attention on sifting through his Swiss-cheesed mind for the name of the procedure.  The captain's convulsions subsided and he drifted into a restless sleep.  "Cortisone therapy!" Sam blurted out as the term broke through the holes in his memory.  "He needs to be administered shots of cortisone," the doctor explained to the puzzled looks he was receiving.

            "Why don't you let the trained doctors deal with medicine and you go do whatever it is that a company clerk does," Charles suggested pompously.  

            The quantum physicist glared at the surgeon.  "The more you delay treatment, the lower the chances of survival."  

            "That's with any type of illness," Col. Potter reminded him.  "Why don't you go finish those reports you were working on," he suggested.

            "The reports can wait," the leaper snapped.  _Captain Pierce's condition is more important than Army paperwork._

            "That was an order, Corporal."

            Sam nodded in defeat and exited the V.I.P. tent.  He proceeded to pace in front of the tent, kicking up dirt and rocks.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Hologram floating through the canvas wall. "Why won't they let me help?" He asked his friend.  "Damn it, Al!  I'm a doctor."  

Al twiddled the cigar between his fingers. "Sure, you're a doctor, but Radar's just a boy playing company clerk," he reminded Sam.  "And as far as everyone here's concerned, you're Radar."

* * *

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 12, 2002

            Dr. Donna Alessi-Beckett stabbed her piece of fish with her fork.  "Are you sure these flounder filets were fully thawed?" the physicist asked.

            "Are you kidding?  That would take too much time," Lieutenant Colonel Erin Hunnicutt quipped.  She dipped a piece of fish into a puddle of tartar sauce and brought the fork to her mouth.

            Dr. Sammi Jo Fuller wrinkled her nose.  "How can you eat that junk?" she asked.

            "I've been raised on military gruel for over thirty years now," Erin explained.  "It's just a matter of training your mouth to become tone-deaf."

            "How's the Retrieval Program coming along?" Donna asked Sammi Jo.

            The young woman cast Donna a regretful look.  "Not as great as I'd like," she admitted.  "There are still some glitches."

            "I'm sure you're doing the best you can," Erin assured her.

            Donna nodded her approval.  "You have got to be one of the most dedicated members of this staff."  The compliment made Sammi Jo beam.

            _Damn you, Sam,_ Donna silently scolded her absent husband.  _What possessed you to leap prematurely?  Was it me?  Was it those nozzles in Washington?_  She had been aware of his desire to make the world a better place from the moment they first met.  Their idealism and love of quantum physics were some of the traits that drew them together.  It didn't matter how hard Sammi Jo worked on the Retrieval Program.  The only person who could bring Sam Home was Sam himself.  Unfortunately, his mind was so Swiss-cheesed, it was a miracle if he could even remember his full name.  He certainly didn't remember his own wife.  That wasn't Sam's fault, though.  Donna had made it explicitly clear to Al that Sam was not to be informed of his marital status unless he himself remembered it.  Samuel John Beckett was – as Al liked to put it – a prude and an overgrown Boy Scout.  He wouldn't be able to pretend to be somebody's husband or lover if he knew that Donna was waiting for him in the present.  His guilt might jeopardize his Leaps – and that would delay Sam and Donna's reunion (a reunion seven years coming).

            Dr. Verbena Beeks and Dr. Tina Martinez O'Farrell approached the table, trays in hand.  "Mind if we join you?" Verbena asked.

            "Yes, we mind," Erin answered.  "You can only sit here if you've brought Guatemalan chocolate."  When Tina backed away from the table, Erin broke out grinning.  "No gourmet chocolate?  That's too bad."  She gestured to an adjacent table.  "Pull up a chair anyway."

            "Erin, please reconsider my offer," Verbena said to the surgeon.  "Remember, my door is always open.  And all sessions are completely confidential."

            "I can't help it," Erin confessed.  "I inherited my wonderful sense of humor from my father."

            "Then you most definitely need therapy," Donna teased.  The five women burst into peals of laughter.  Erin had repeatedly entertained them with tales of her father's antics at the 4077th MASH in Korea.

            "What's the progress of the current Leap?" Tina inquired.  Despite the floozy way she acted, she was an intelligent woman.  She had been blessed with good looks, but it was her brain that had gotten her brought onto the Project.

            "The lapse in time between Captain Pierce's declining condition and the incident with Nurse Brighton and Major Davis is too close for comfort," Erin informed the others.  "And we've already established that Dr. Beckett can't be in two places at once."  Although two of the people she had mentioned were familiar to her, she separated the personal from the professional by referring to them by their official titles.

            "Al told me that the doctors in Radar's unit wouldn't listen to his suggestions," Donna said.  She knew the reasons behind their actions, but it didn't make her – or Sam – feel any better.

            "Those surgeons may not believe Sam, but that crazy man might," Sammi Jo stated.  All eyes turned toward her, waiting for an explanation.  Donna could see the glint in the woman's eyes; it was the same look Sam got whenever he had an idea.  As far as Sammi Jo knew, a man named Will Kilman was her father.  That title really belonged to Samuel Beckett, who had entered her mother Abigail's life during three consecutive Leaps.  Sammi Jo resembled her mother on the outside and her father on the inside.  She had Sam's high I.Q. and his photographic memory.  The only ones who knew about the relationship between Samuel Beckett and Samantha Josephine Fuller were Al, Sam (when the memory cared to surface from the holes), and Ziggy.  Donna had found out when she was reviewing past Leaps to prepare for a visit from Chairman Diana McBride.  She never told anybody what she had discovered.

            "What 'crazy man'?" Donna asked.

            "Radar was telling me about this friend of his," Sammi Jo explained.  "The one that prances around in backless formals."

            Verbena sprinkled pepper on her pasta salad.  "I'm confident in my level of sanity, but even I have to admit I'm a little confused."

            "He's trying to get a Section 8," the young physicist continued.  "If he truly is …" she pointed to her temple and made a circular motion "he'll believe Sam.  And even if he doesn't, Sam could at least convince him to look after Nurse Brighton.  Now do you understand what I'm …"

            "You mean Klinger?" Erin suddenly blurted out.  Sammi Jo nodded.  "I wouldn't set Klinger on the major if

I were you," she advised.  "That man's got a temper that could make a Doberman pinscher cower under a table."          

             "Well, I was going to suggest that I leap …" Sammi Jo admitted.

            "Absolutely not!" Donna interrupted.  "It's too dangerous."

            "That's what I figured you'd say.  It might have worked.  You never know, right?"

Donna couldn't help but smile at her optimism.  It was too bad that Sam couldn't see her work at P.Q.L.  _Come home, Sam,_ she silently prayed._  Please come home._


	9. Major vs. Margaret or Radar vs. the Doct...

Author's Rambling

                Sorry … sorry … sorry … sorry … sorry … I know it took forever to update.  Truth is, between reworking another story, writer's block on this story, and writing a paper, it was hard to do any additions.  I got an email from somebody who wanted me to "finish this up already!"  I revised some of the earlier chapters and changed the last scene in chapter 8.  For those who don't want to reread everything, the only main change was to promote Lieutenant Theodore Davis to a major.

                Depending on how long the next chapter is, there should be about 2 or 3 chapters left.  I had wanted  to add another scene to this chapter, but I figured I'd post what I've got to keep the dogs from growling.

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 6, 1952

            Leah Brighton untied her surgical mask and tossed it into the laundry basket.  After last night's ordeal (and the rumors threatening to spread around camp), she just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.  The war had other plans; some gung-ho commander tried to overtake a hill and paid the price in high casualties.  She hoped the Mess Tent was still open for lunch – even a late afternoon snack would suffice.  

            "Good work today, Brighton," Major Houlihan said, removing her own surgical garb.

            Leah smiled.  "Thanks, Major."  She started to leave, but the major stopped her.

            "I'd like to talk to you for a minute," Houlihan told the nurse.

             "I'm kind of busy right now, ma'am."

            "That was an order," the other woman reminded her.

            Begrudgingly, Leah followed the head nurse back to her tent.  _She's going to ask me about last night – I just know it!  _Leah's eyes darted toward the door, hoping to conjure up an escape plan.

            "As I'm sure you are aware, there was a fight early this morning in the Nurse's Showers."

            "News travels fast 'round here," Leah answered.

            "I don't have to listen to the rumors – I was one of the officers who broke it up.  You wouldn't happen to know anything about the incident, would you?" 

She shrugged.  "The major probably stole the corporal's favorite comic book or something."

"Nurse Brighton, if there's one thing I hate more than a liar, it's a blatant liar.  Someone with the audacity to think I'm stupid enough to …"

"They were fighting about me!" she blurted out.  "Is that what you wanted to hear?"  _Oh, Radar.  Why the hell couldn't you just leave well enough alone?_

"Mind telling me why they were fighting about you?"  

            Leah's attention focused on the floor of the tent.  _My god this place is so immaculate – it's making me sick._  "It's nothing I can't handle, ma'am," she answered.

            Major Houlihan's voice softened.  "If one of my nurses is in trouble, I deserve to know about it."

            "Look Major – I can take care of myself."  She had learned early on that one does not talk harshly to a superior officer; right now, she didn't give a damn.  

            "What happened?" the major repeated.__

             "I did something bad, Major," Leah stammered.  "I did something real bad."  

The major looked perplexed.  "We've all done _bad things_ at one time or the other."  

"I was having nightmares.  The only way to make them stop was by taking walks," She continued, her voice barely above a whisper.  "I know I'm not supposed to do that, but the nightmares were really starting to scare me.  A couple days ago, I ran into Maj. Davis.  He made me go into the Nurses' Showers and strip naked."  She focused her attention on the major's red silk pillow, a token from one of her former suitors.  Houlihan nodded, encouraging her to continue.  "I told him I wasn't gonna do no such thing, but he said he'd file an insubordination complaint – disobeying an officer.  I spit in his eye, and he got so mad he twisted my wrist.  Shoved me into one of the showers and started kissing me." 

 "Did you try to fight him off?"  

She forced herself to look the major in the eyes.  "I was scared he'd try to hurt me, ma'am."  She quickly turned her attention back to the red silk pillow so Major Houlihan wouldn't see the tears brimming in her eyelids.  _Crying in front of Hot Lips – that'll give everybody a laugh,_ she thought grimly.  She swallowed hard.  "I told you what you wanted to know.  Can I be excused?" She slammed the door before the major even had a chance to reprimand her.  She dragged herself away from the head nurse's tent, and ignored the tears staining her cheeks.  She wished she wasn't so confused.  Radar was only trying to help.  _So why do I hate his guts right now?_  When she reached the back of the Nurses' Tent, she sank to the ground and buried her head in her knees.  She sensed somebody approaching, but didn't bother looking up to see who it was.

"Brighton?" a familiar voice said.

Leah wiped her eyes with her sleeves.  "Can I help you with anything, Major?"

The major sat down next to the nurse and wrapped her arm around her heaving shoulders.  "Why haven't you told anyone?" she inquired in a gentle tone of voice the nurses were unaccustomed to being addressed with.  

"People would think I wasn't tough," the nurse answered.  _And I'd be the only nurse who keeps turning down dates with the 4077th's most eligible bachelors._

"If somebody tries to hurt you, you report it," Major Houlihan said.  "Who is 'people'?" she inquired.  "Me?"  Brighton nodded.  "You happen to be a very attentive nurse," she continued.  "We had a nurse awhile back – before you arrived, even – who cried every time she saw any serious wounds."

"Aren't we supposed to see serious wounds at a war unit?" 

They both laughed at Leah's innocent-yet-obvious observance.

"So, no, Brighton, reporting Major Davis' behavior would not make you seem weak.  In fact, it would make you stronger because you stood up against him."

"Could you tell Colonel Potter not to be too hard on Radar?" the younger nurse requested.  "And … and …" she hung her head.  "I don't want anybody else to know," she mumbled.  "It's embarrassing enough as it is."

"You did nothing wrong!" Major Houlihan reminded her.  "That ass deserves a court-martial – or worse.  You may no realize this, Brighton, but there are at least four or five people on this base who would love to strangle Davis if they didn't hate death so much."

Leah tried to absorb everything the major was telling her.  _Is this woman really Major Houlihan?_ She wondered.  It was hard to believe that the tough-as-nails head nurse actually had an empathetic side – that she actually cared.  _Well, I guess she's a human being, too._  

* * *

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 12, 2002

            Walter Eugene O'Reilly pressed his ear against the door.  The lunch they had served him had tasted as scrumptious as a puddle of mud (_The Army never was known for good food_) and now he was – as Hawkeye called it – "giving the wall a physical."  Even without his sixth sense, he could tell that there were details the psychiatrist, the admiral, and the colonel were leaving out.  

            "… Once he slips into that coma, he's not going to wake up," Lt. Col. Hunnicutt was saying.

            "Sam mentioned something called 'cortisone therapy.'" Admiral Calavicci's voice.

            "That's one of the drugs used in treating meningitis," she informed him.  "But I'm not sure if it was around back in '52."

            Radar swallowed the lump in his throat.  _Oh gee, they're talking about Hawkeye!_  He tried to shove his trembling hands into his pockets – then realized that the outfit he was wearing didn't have any.  He couldn't make out every word the admiral and the colonel were saying (not that he could understand the medical mumbo-jumbo anyway) but he knew the situation wasn't good.  _Hawkeye's gonna die._  The words spiraled in his brain like an out-of-control merry-go-round.  _Wasn't losing Henry enough?_  Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake had been like a father to him.  The day he learned of the fatal plane crash was one that would stay in his mind for a long time.  Over a year ago, he would have never been able to picture the unit with any other commander.  Now – although it made him feel guilty to admit it – he couldn't picture the 4077th without Colonel Potter.  So much had changed since Henry's death.  Trapper had been discharged – only to be replaced by (to Majors Burns and Houlihan's chagrin) a man who would immediately become one of Captain Pierce's closest friends.  He sometimes wondered how Captain Hunnicutt and Captain McIntyre would have gotten along.  _Probably would've made Major Burns go nuts earlier,_ he fathomed.  Major Houlihan was married and divorced and Major Burns had gone crazy and replaced by Major Winchester.  Major Winchester was a wealthy snob from Boston – but he was one of the finest surgeons the 4077th would have in its possession.  There were subtle changes in personalities, too.  Most of the changes were difficult to notice, but they didn't go past the attuned company clerk.  Captain Pierce had grown more serious and Major Houlihan (at least with the captains) seemed to have discovered a lighter side.  The head nurse and the two jokester-surgeons had actually struck up a friendship.  _We can't lose Hawkeye – not now, not ever._

            The door started to slide open, causing the eavesdropper to jump back and plaster himself against the wall.

            "Radar?" Lieutenant Colonel Hunnicutt called out, eying the room for the leapee.

            He inched away from the wall and approached the woman.  "Ma'am?" he asked with an attempt to sound innocent.

            Hunnicutt folded her arms over her chest.  "What did you hear?"

            "What do you mean, ma'am?"

            She sighed.  "I know you've been listening to the conversation," she told him.  "You've got 'guilt' written all over your face.  Besides, I've – ah …" she fumbled for the right words.  "I've heard a lot about you from my cousin."  

She didn't appear to be angry with him.  In fact, it almost seemed that she expected for him to have eavesdropped.  He just wished they would start telling him what was going on with his friends.

            "Is Hawkeye going to die?" he finally blurted out.  He planted his eyes on her.

            "In the original history, yes," she explained.  "Sam is going to make sure that doesn't happen."

            He tried to quell the anger threatening to erupt inside him, but it was to no avail.  "Maybe I'm no doctor and maybe I'm no officer – but gosh darn it! – Don't you dare talk down to me," he hissed.

            "I'm not talking 'down to you,' Radar," she assured him, taken aback by his harsh tone.

            "Maybe this Sam of yours is a great doctor – but even great doctors lose patients."

            "Don't I know it," she muttered.  "Hawkeye is very sick," she started to say.

            "So don't you dare tell me this friend of yours is gonna magically save Captain Pierce!" he continued.

            "May I speak, Corporal?" she finally cut in.       

            "Sure," he mumbled.  _Was that me ranting just now?_

            "I'm a doctor myself," she told him.  "And I'm certainly not the first one to tell you that when we've got a patient in critical condition, we do everything in our power to save them."  Radar nodded, embarrassed.  "I guess you don't know as much about Sam as we thought you did," she continued.  "He's the modern-day Don Quixote.  I've known him since medical school, and from day one he has never quit on the people he tries to help."  Her eyes softened.  "He'd never give up on Captain Pierce."

            Radar hoisted himself onto the mirrored table.  "I'm sorry I got upset," he told Erin.  "It's just …"

            "Hawkeye is like a brother to you."

            He looked up at her.  "How'd you know?"

            "I know a lot about the MASH 4077th.  The folks there are just as special to me as they are to you."

            "Really?"  _How does she know the people at the MASH?  I bet she's never even stepped foot in Korea._

            He could tell by the expression on her face that she was wrestling with the best way to tell him whatever it was she wanted to say.  "Radar, how much do you know about me?  Or about the Project?"

            "Gee, I dunno.  You've got a friend named Sam who travels back in time and helps people.  Right now he's pretending to be me so he can help Captain Pierce and Nurse Brighton."  She prodded him to continue.  "You and Captain Hunnicutt are related – cousins or something." 

            She shook her head.  "I lied to you.  He's not my cousin," she admitted.  Her next words nearly caused Radar to fall off the table.  "He's my father."

            __


	10. Farmboys and Mozart

Copyright and Author's Rambling

                I was going to write another scene in order to finish the story in one or two more chapters, but I've decided to post what I have (got to keep the natives from revolting).  I promise, there will be more action in the next chapter(s).

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 6, 1952

            Sam followed Klinger to the bar.  "Are we still on for tonight?" Klinger asked the bartender.

            "These pockets better be full by morning," the bartender warned.  "I had to cancel a date."

            "You cancelled a date to play poker?" Klinger asked.

            "Hey, she had a mole on her chin," the bartender said.

            The cross-dresser shook his head.  "Igor, Igor.  What are we going to do with you?" 

            "How about pay your tab?" the now-identified Igor suggested.  "You still owe about twenty-five from last month."

            Klinger pretended to ignore him.  "I'll have a scotch on the rocks."  Sam had already spent over a day in the presence of the corporal, and still he couldn't get used to his outrageous attire.  Right now, for example, he was dolled up in a bright pink evening gown, and matching stilettos and hat with black lace covering his eyes.  For all his shenanigans (from what Al had mentioned, the man had once tried to eat a jeep), he was a hard worker.

            "What do you have on tap?" the leaper asked.  Igor told him.  "I'll have a schooner, please."

            Igor and Klinger glanced at each other, then back at Sam as if he was crazy.  "You sure you don't just want a grape nehi?" Igor asked.

            "Why would I want a grape nehi?" Sam wanted to know.  He vaguely remembered trying the drink back at M.I.T.  He and Erin Hunnicutt had gone to a local restaurant to celebrate a successful end to a difficult semester.  She had been overly excited when she noticed grape nehi on the menu.  "My dad's friend is nuts about this drink," she had raved.  "You should try it, Sammy.  I think you might like it."  _Yeah, right._  It was the most disgusting concoction he'd ever tasted.

            "It's what you always order," Klinger reminded him.

            _That's just great._  "Well, you know – I decided to try something new for a change."

            They grabbed their drinks and joined Colonel Potter and Major Winchester at a table near the jukebox.  Both colonel and major were shocked by the "corporal's" choice of drink.  Sam repeated his "I needed a change" excuse.

            "You know something, Klinger?" Sam told the cross-dressing corpsman as he downed the rest of his drink, "If you want my opinion, start acting completely military and by-the-book, and everyone would be convinced you've gone bananas."

            Klinger grinned.   "Hey, kid, you're not half-bad."

            Colonel Potter shook his finger at his "company clerk."  "Don't give him any ideas, Corporal – or should I say Private."

            "I wouldn't give him any tips if I were you," a gravelly voice warned.  Sam glared at the hologram.  Al ignored the looks he was receiving.  "The colonel would never fall for any of those section 8 stunts anyways.  You can't help him get out of here, Sam."  _I'd love to help everyone 'get out of here.'  _"Klinger marries a Korean refugee at the end of the war and – would you believe it? – Stays in Korea for nearly two years trying to search for her family."

"Sounds like you know a lot."  _I'm getting good at this answering multiple questions with one answer._

"For some insane reason, I seem to remember more of Erin's stories than I'd care to."   

"You're darn right I do, son!" Potter's voice overlapped with Al's.  "Been in this man's army for over forty years."

            The admiral snorted.  "Oh yeah?  I've been in the Navy for …" His concentration was broken by a lusty nurse sashaying past the table.  "Now those are what I call casabas!" he whistled.  His friend just looked up and rolled his eyes in disgust.

            "Is something the matter, Corporal?" Major Winchester inquired.

            "Oh, no, of course not," Sam assured him.  _Sir,_ Al mouthed.  "No, sir," he added.  He glanced around the Officer's Club to see what other people were doing.  A blackjack game was occurring in the corner.  Several enlisted men were attempting (and failing) to pick up nurses, while their lucky counterparts were dancing to Father Mulcahy's piano-playing.

            Sam approached the piano.  "Mind if I do a few numbers?" he asked the chaplain.  

            Father Mulcahy stood up.  "By all means, Radar."

            His fingers flew across the keys, taking his Swiss-cheesed mind back to Carnegie Hall.  He couldn't remember if the piece he was performing was Bach or Tchaichovsky; his audience's shocked faces signified it didn't matter. 

            "I didn't know you played," an astounded Charles gasped.

            "Depends on the weather."

            "Sam …" Al warned.  He was about to rebuke Sam for his recent behavior, but decided against it when the hand link started flashing.  He read the screen and quickly shoved the device into his pocket.

            _Al, what's wrong?_ The leaper mouthed to his ashen-faced friend.  _Is it Captain Pierce?_

            "Erin's father is keeping vigil," Al explained, temporarily quelling Sam's concerns about the ailing officer.  "There's still two deaths tonight."

            Sam abandoned the piano and followed his friend outside.  "If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone else was occupying that boy's body," the colonel whispered to the corporal and the major.  Sam bit back a laugh.  _You have no idea,_ he thought, peering around the corner to make sure nobody was in earshot.  

            "What do you mean, 'there's still two deaths'?" he asked.  "I thought we fixed the situation with Brighton."

            "Major Houlihan had a chat with her," Al told him.  "The major is sending paperwork through to have the nozzle prosecuted."  He looked over at the young nurse's tent and shook his head sadly.  "The case never makes it to trial."

            "Because she still kills Major Davis tonight."  He began strolling around the perimeter of the Officer's Club.  "So peaceful," he muttered, observing the mountainous scenery.

            "Hard to believe this is a war zone," Al agreed.  "You changed history, Sam.  Davis finds out Brighton 'ratted him out' as the saying goes – so he gives her the beating of a lifetime.  I've gotta pick another word besides 'nozzle,'" he grunted.  "This son-of-a-bitch doesn't deserve it."

            "How's Hawkeye?"  _Maybe I'll hear some good news in this department._  No such luck – the captain was in critical condition, and expected to take a turn for the worse sometime around quarter to one.  "When does the major attack the nurse?"  _I'll take care of one situation, then rush off to the next._  He tried to mentally plan his solutions, but was cut short by the hologram's answer.  "What do you mean, 'in the vicinity of oh-thirty and oh-one-hundred hours'?  That time frame is too close."  _Oh, boy._

 * * *

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 12, 2002

            "Your father?" Radar echoed.  Erin nodded.  "Gee … that's … oh gosh …" The lieutenant colonel bit her lip to keep from laughing at the young man's shocked expression.  "Why'd you say you were cousins?"

            "When you first arrived in the Waiting Room, you thought you were still in 1952," Erin explained.

            "… I thought I was still in 1952," Radar said at the same time.  "What?" he asked in response to her grin.

            "Oh, nothing.  Why am I explaining this to you?  You already know what I'm going to say."  _I never thought I'd be so happy to hear Uncle Radar's "radar."  _

            "But if you aren't thinking it, then I can't hear it.  You know, your dad … he's one swell doctor.  And he talks about you all the time.  You're – you were – a very beautiful baby."

            "When he came home from the war, he refused to let me out of his sight," Erin reminisced.  "He was afraid to fall asleep.  Thought the peace treaty was a dream he didn't want to end, and if he closed his eyes, he'd wake up back in Korea."

            Radar's eyes grew big.  "You mean the war ends?"

            "Yes it does, believe it or not."  _I hope Al doesn't rail into me for giving too much information.  Nah, maybe he'll make an exception.  We don't get many leapees like Radar in here.  Come to think of it, maybe I should give the Radar in this time a call._  She knew that any phone calls would have to wait until after Dr. Beckett Leaped.  The last few hours in a Leap were always the most crucial; the Project staff had to keep on their toes.

            "Anything I can do?" the clairvoyant man asked for the umpteenth time.  

Erin didn't have to be a mind reader to know how frustrating it was to have a friend's life in danger and not being able to do anything about it.  There were times she wanted to enter the Accelerator Chamber and help Sam get out of whatever fix he was in, and this was no exception.  _Yeah, Hunnicutt, that would go over real well with Calavicci._  "Can you be in two places at once?"  Radar shook his head.  "That's what I thought," she sighed.  "What about telling me which surgeon – or nurse – is most likely to listen to 'you'."

"Any doctor who takes medical advice from a 'nearsighted, uneducated country boy company clerk' ain't playin' with a full deck."  Erin winced at his quoting of Ferret Face.  "Gee, golly wiz, I don't know.  I'd forget about Major Winchester.  Captain Hunnicutt might listen to your friend – he'd do anything to save Hawkeye.  Klinger'd probably break Major Davis' neck if you're not careful," he warned.

"Aren't you supposed to wait until I 'think it' before you 'read it'?" she asked as she exited the Waiting Room.

"You've been thinking about Baby all along," he called after her.  "Between Klinger and Dr. Beckett, she's gonna be just fine."

            She smiled.  "Thanks, kid."

            As she entered the Control Room, she could hear what appeared to be an intense disagreement between Dr. Jon Gooshman and Ziggy.  "What's the problem this time, Gooshie?" 

            "And don't you even **think** about downloading that music until you give me those results!"  The Chief Programmer turned away from the parallel hybrid computer's main terminal and faced the Chief Surgeon.  "She's being temperamental."

            "What else is new?" she muttered.

            The computer _humphed._  "Onion-Breath erased my Mozart."

            "It was an accident," Gooshie apologized.  "And if you want to get it back, I'd suggest you quit the name-calling."

            She couldn't figure out why she found the interactions between Gooshie and Ziggy so amusing.  There were times when she – no, all of the Quantum Leap staff – ceased to remember that Ziggy was no more than a highly advanced piece of technology.  Gooshie especially.  She wondered if the red-headed scientist ever had any friends growing up; Ziggy was the only one he confided in and he was the only one who stood up for her to the admiral's abuse.  He was pleading with her now, almost to the point of getting on his hands and knees.

            "If you don't produce those reports, a lot of people's lives could be in danger."  _That's it, Doc.  Try to reason with a stubborn "bucket of bolts."_

            "Not until you 'produce' my Mozart," Ziggy retorted.  "And for your information, there are only two lives in danger on this Leap … with a possible third."

            "A third?" Erin asked.

            "Dr. Beckett's life will be in jeopardy if his plan backfires."

            Gooshie pressed his hands on Ziggy's Rubik cube-like mainframe.  "Ziggy, if you don't start cooperating, I swear I will hand Al a hammer and ask him to smash you to smithereens (and don't believe for a moment that he won't do it)."

_Now would be a good time to step in,_ the lieutenant colonel told herself.  "If I can obtain you another Mozart compilation, will you report the figures to Gooshie?"

            The lights in the blue sphere that acted as the supercomputer's "brain" flickered for a moment, then: "Alright, sounds reasonable enough to me."

            " 'Reasonable'?" grumbled the chief programmer.  "She's one to talk."

            Erin shook her head at the absurdity of the situation.  _It's not every assignment that you can witness an admiral in the U.S. Navy and top-tier scientists argue with a piece of technology.   If Sidney could see me now …_


	11. Things Are Going Kaka

Copyright and Author's Rambling

                One more chapter, plus an epilogue.  I promise.  This will be the first fan fiction I've ever completed.

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 6, 1952

            Corporal Max Klinger ducked into the supply tent, momentarily avoiding detection from Nurse Brighton.  _Why am I doing this again, kid?_  He waited a few seconds, and then continued to follow her.  _I gave up a poker game to follow some nurse until two in the morning.  Somebody, please tell me why I give into that kid.  _Brighton stepped into Post-Op and approached Nurse Bigelow, the nurse on duty.  Klinger waited outside, leaning against the door.  After a few seconds, he entered the building via Radar's office.  The two nurses were speaking too low for him to make out what they were saying.  The important thing, according to Radar, was to "not let Nurse Leah Brighton out of your sight."  He waited for Brighton to exit Post-Op and followed closely behind.  He grimaced as his bare foot shattered a discarded test tube.  _If Murdock doesn't start disposing of this trash correctly, he's really gonna get it._  He had left the stilettos in his tent, because they were an impediment to quick movement.

            "Do you need anything, Corporal?" 

            He shook his head and fought the urge to kill Bigelow for nearly blowing his cover.  "No, I don't," he muttered.  "Thanks."  He ignored the nurse's and the patients' questioning stares and rushed outside to keep up with his charge.  Out of the corner of his eye, he detected somebody duck behind the garbage cans.  _Somebody playing hide-and-seek,_ he told himself.  _Nothing to get concerned about._  

            The corpsman and the nurse had never been friends; in fact, one could accurately say they barely knew each other at all.  About the only thing Max Klinger knew about Leah "Baby" Brighton was that she was unusually shy and possessed a stubborn streak that went with being the youngest member of the nursing staff.  He was also aware of his friend's feelings for her.  He had once interrogated Radar about his feelings for Baby, and the shorter man had just denied everything.  Klinger didn't need a verbal answer; his young friend's actions over the past few days was answer enough.  

            He watched Baby sneak into the kitchen.  _What am I supposed to do?  Protect her from vengeful mystery meat?_

            He couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that someone else was following Baby – following him.  His concern quickly dissipated when he felt the butt of a rifle make harsh contact with the back of his skull.  The last thing he saw through his blurred vision was a man in a plum suit and matching fedora waving a cigar in front of his face and shouting at him to stay awake, interspersed with rants about "that damned nozzle."

* * *

            Captain B.J. Hunnicutt pulled the thermometer out of the patient's mouth.  _Damn! Still 102°.  _The patient moaned and attempted to kick the covers off, but he'd been sapped of too much energy to accomplish the task.  B.J. double checked the IVs and sat down next to the patient.  If it were any old patient that came through this unit, he would have handed over these tasks to the nurse on duty.  But this wasn't "any old patient."  This was one of his closest friends.

            "How's he doing, sir?" a familiar voice inquired.

            B.J. gripped the sides of the chair.  "Don't scare me like that, Radar."  _Now I know how Henry and Colonel Potter must've felt._

            "I'm sorry," the corporal said.  "I didn't mean to."  He approached Hawkeye's cot, seemingly examining the ill surgeon.

            "No change," B.J. said quietly.  Radar wasn't a doctor, but he was Hawkeye's friend.  It was obvious from the day B.J. arrived in the camp that the captain and the corporal were like brothers.  Hawkeye and Radar had gone through more than B.J. had ever gone through.  "This must be hard for you, Radar."  The boy nodded.  "First Henry, now Hawk …"

            The corporal whirled around.  "Don't say that!  Hawkeye is not going to die.  Do you hear me?"

            The captain sighed.  "He's not improving.  We have to face facts, Radar."

            "A friend of mine had the same disease he has.  There's a new treatment on the market – cortisone therapy.  It might work, but it has to be done quickly."

            B.J. shook his head.  "Since when did you become a doctor?"

            Radar gripped his arm.  "Listen to me, B.J.  Remember how you ask me why I know the things I do?"

            The kid was right.  He'd always wondered, but eventually surrendered the question to the file of "Why does bread fall butter-side down?" and other meaningless questions.

            "Please, B.J.," Radar pleaded.  "You have to trust me."

            He whipped his head around and glared at the shorter man.  "Trust you?" he spat.  "Damnit, Radar!  You aren't a doctor, so don't you dare tell me how to treat my patients."  He was scared that his young friend would be upset by his outburst; surprisingly, he held his ground.

            "You want Hawkeye to get better, don't you?" the corporal asked in a serious tone.  B.J. could only nod in agreement.  "I know how to help him.  You have to let me."

            The captain rubbed his temple.  "I know.  Look, I'm sorry if I snapped, but …"

            "I understand."  He jumped slightly, and then gave a dirty look to someone – or something – B.J. couldn't see.  The glare faded into a look of worry.

            "Something wrong?"

            "No, everything's fine.  Just thinking, that's all."  He nodded in the direction of his invisible friend, then returned his attentions back to the doctor.  "If I tell you what you need to do, will you do it?"

            "I can't make promises, Radar."

            "Do you want Hawkeye to get better or not?"

            B.J. threw up his hands in exasperation.  "What the hell do you think?"  

            "Then listen to my instructions."

            The surgeon part of himself was admonishing him for listening to the medical advice of an "uneducated farm boy."  Yet, another part of him was desperately trying to cling to any miracle that would save his best friend – even one that came from the intuitive mind of one Radar O'Reilly.

* * *

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 12, 2002

            Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci had been doing this job for nearly seven years, and he still couldn't get used to the part of the Leap when everything – as he liked to call it – went kaka.  Sometimes, they were lucky: Leap in, convince Joey not to quit med school, Leap out.  Other Leaps were not as simple.  Dr. Beckett, that "overgrown Boy Scout," would have to accomplish two very difficult tasks at the same time.  There was only one of Sam, and only one of Al.  And nobody could convince Don Quixote and Sancho that one person was worth saving over another.  They would have to be innovative, but – damn it – Hawkeye and Baby were going to be all right.

            This is what the holographic observer kept reminding himself as he locked in on Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger and Nurse Leah Brighton.  The corporal had a gift for sneakiness and for being conniving.  He was also good at taking orders and held a general concern for his officers and fellow comrades.  Ignore the Scarlett O'Hara attire, and you could bear witness to one of the finest examples of a United States Army soldier.  This soldier braved muddying his dress in order to keep a certain nurse from harm.  Nurse Brighton had just entered the kitchen; according to Ziggy's calculations (which weren't known for their accuracy), Major Davis would arrive in less than fifteen minutes.

            He heard a frantic squeal from his breast pocket, drawing his attention to the flashing hand link.  "What?" he called to the parallel hybrid computer.

            "I should warn you, Admiral, that I predict with a 95.8% chance that …"

            "Just cut to the chase, would you?" he grumbled.

            As the rifle butt cracked the corporal on the back of the skull, Ziggy continued: "… Major Davis is going to knock Corporal Klinger unconscious in less than five seconds."

            Al made a futile attempt to keep the man alert, let loose a string of profanities aimed at the "useless bucket of bolts," and centered in on Sam.

"You want Hawkeye to get better, don't you?" the leaper was saying to Captain Hunnicutt.  "I know how to help him.  You have to let me."

"I know.  Look, I'm sorry if I snapped, but …"

            "I understand."  The hologram suddenly came into his view, and he jumped.  "Don't do that!" he hissed.

            "Davis attacked Klinger," the observer informed the leaper.

            "Is he okay?" Sam mouthed.

            He fiddled the unlit cigar between his fingers.  "Unconscious."

            That was enough for Sam to confirm that B.J. would heed his advice and to high tail it to the kitchen.  Al floated alongside his friend, until a blinding flash caused Korea to fade into the stark white walls of the Imaging Chamber.


	12. Oh, Boy!

Copyright and Author's Rambling

                Okay, okay, I lied.  Two more chapters plus the epilogue.  My dad's coming in about half an hour to get my computer (winter break

**: Þ **).  Hope the ending is satisfactory to you.

Project Quantum Leap

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

February 12, 2002

            "You goddamn nozzle!" a raspy voice thundered.  "What the hell just happened here?  Ziggy?!"  Lieutenant Colonel Erin Hunnicutt, Chief Programmer Jon Gooshman, and Chief of Project Retrieval Sammi Jo Fuller didn't have to look up from the controls to know who was behind the outburst.

            Seeing as she was standing closest to the Imaging Chamber door, Erin was the first to reach the admiral when he stormed into the control room.  "Are you alright?" she asked.  "We just had a power surge," she explained.  _After I deal with Calavicci, I've got to reset all the electrical appliances.  Wonder if the surge affected the entire building or just the Control Room.  This should be fun._

            Al glared at her.  "Do I look 'alright'?"  He proceeded toward Ziggy's blue orb with plans to smash in "that damned bucket of bolts," but Erin grabbed his arm.

            "If you want Sam to return home, you can't destroy Ziggy," the Chief Surgeon reminded the irate Project co-director.

            "I'm not going to destroy her," he grumbled.  "I just want to knock some sense into that crappy piece of junk.  We get this close …" he pinched two fingers together to demonstrate "… to ending this Leap, and the damned nozzle has to lose power."            

            _Why isn't "Barbara Streisand" defending herself?_  "Ziggy?" she called out.  No answer.

            "That's right, ignore us," Al growled.  "I'm gonna rip apart your mainframe."

Erin stole a glance at Sammi Jo and Gooshie, hoping for some assistance with the stubborn admiral.  Sammi Jo hid a smirk by biting her nails, and Gooshie ducked his perspiring face and pretended to fiddle with the controls.  The buzzing of the intercom – _temporarily,_ Erin thought – saved them.

            Gooshie pressed the intercom button.  "Control Room, Gooshie speaking."

            "My office just lost power for a few seconds," the Chief Psychiatrist's voice came over the speakers.  "Did the power outage affect the entire building?"  _Well, I guess that answers that question._

            "The Imaging Chamber went offline," the halitosis-infected scientist answered.  He lowered his voice.  "The admiral is furious."

            "He's about to throw a conniption fit," Dr. Fuller volunteered, ignoring the glaring of Admiral Calavicci, the blushing of Dr. Gooshman, and the smirking of Lieutenant Colonel Hunnicutt.  "I think you should get down here ASAP."  She added a note of fear to her voice for dramatic effect.

            _Why didn't I just take Uncle Klinger's advice and join the circus? With these people, it's hard to tell the difference._

            "Because you probably make a better doctor than clown," a voice said from behind her.

            "Radar, don't do that!" she gasped.  _I guess this is what Sam feels like when Al sneaks up on him.  _She'd practically grown up with the man's "radar," but thirty-five-year-old Radar was different than twenty-year-old Radar.

            The young man looked down to hide his red face.  "I mean, you look like a… you'd be a good clown … but I like you better as a doctor," he stammered.

            "Corporal, how did you get out of the Waiting Room?" The admiral asked.  _Leave it to Al to use military formalities._

            "The power surge must have deactivated some of the controls," Erin suggested.  Radar nodded in agreement.  _If he ever – God forbid – became a prisoner-of-war, the enemy wouldn't know what to do with him.  He's got the knack and the wit to get out of anything._

            "I … umm … was wondering if you needed any help."

            "We can handle it, thanks," Gooshie told the visitor.

            "Radar is very good with technology," Erin informed the others.  "And he's not a security risk," she added for Al's benefit.

            "The surge temporarily shut off the controls that monit …" Gooshie began to tell Radar.

            "The surge temporarily shut off the controls that monitor the electricity, the Waiting Room, and the Imaging Chamber."  The Chief Programmer was left gaping, but the Chief Surgeon and Project co-director only grinned and shrugged.  "I tend to know about things before they happen," Radar quickly explained to the red haired man.

            Gooshie continued.  "We have to restart …"

            "…The system, enter in the proper codes, and reattach some wires," Radar finished.

            Erin stifled the urge to laugh at the scientist's apparent discomfort with their clairvoyant visitor.  _Poor Sam is missing all the fun.  Now where did I leave my clown costume?_

* * *

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 7, 1952

            Nurse Leah "Baby" Brighton searched the kitchen, first to make sure nobody would catch her, and then to locate a mixing bowl and beaters.  _Major Houlihan gets real pissed when we cook in our tents, but I'm sure in the mood for hot fudge and lousy coffee._  She shuddered at the sight of the large butcher knife lying on the table, but decided to ignore it and proceed with her "mission."  Satisfied that no one would burst in on her, she grabbed a wooden spoon and reached for a medium-sized mixing bowl from the shelf.  _I'll give some to Bigelow, Kellye, and Baker,_ she decided.  _Better get the large bowl instead.  Maybe some to Radar, Klinger, and Captain Hun …_

            Her thoughts were interrupted by what she recognized to be the impact of a rifle butt on a human skull and the muffled thud of flesh hitting the ground.  Her face grew drawn and she bit her lip to stifle her heavy breathing.  She quickly leaned against the table, waiting for whoever was outside to leave.  _No such luck,_ she thought grimly as the sweaty hand covered her mouth.

            "Did you miss me, Baby?" the familiar voice sneered.

            She squirmed and tried to bite his hand.  Major Theodore Davis responded by wrapping his free arm around her and trapping her between himself and the table.  "Don't try to move," he hissed.  "Now, honey, why'd you have to lie to Hot Lips for?"

            _I didn't lie!_   She tried to ignore her pounding heartbeat and focus on the task at hand – getting away from the crazed major.

            "I did not 'rape' you," Davis continued.  "I love you, Baby.  Loved you since the day I laid eyes on you.  But you don't like me, do you?  You avoided me.  You mocked me.  You …"

            Brighton took this opportunity to kick the major in what Captain Pierce affectionately called his "family jewels."  While he was momentarily "occupied," she reached behind her and quickly grabbed the gleaming butcher knife.  "Stay away from me, you bastard!" she screamed.  Davis lunged for the knife.  She responded by aiming the knife at his throat.

            "Take it easy, Babe," he tried to placate her.  "You don't  want them to call that shrink on you, now do you?"

            _I'll kill him.  I want this son-of-a-bitch to die – right here, right now._  She tightened her grip on the knife.  A patient had once told her that out in the trenches, you become detached from your weapon.  The arm attached to the hand attached to the finger attached to the trigger is not attached to your body.  The hand attached to the knife plunging itself repeatedly into flesh was not connected to Leah Brighton.          

"Leah, stop!"  She felt a hand gently take her arm and attempt to pull her away.  "It's okay, he won't hurt you anymore."  

This brought Leah out of her funk.  The voice was too caring to belong to Davis.  When her hazy vision cleared, she expected to see the snarling major.  Instead, she was greeted with the concerned eyes of Corporal Walter "Radar" O'Reilly.

"W-where's D-Davis?" she stammered.  Radar motioned to the body on the floor.  She wanted to turn away from the blood and the twisted expression on the major's face, but something fixated her to the spot.  "I – I think I'm going to be sick."

_I killed a man.  I'm a murderer.  A murderer!_  She was vaguely aware of Radar leading her out of the kitchen and into the humid Korean summer night air.  "I didn't mean to kill him," she finally managed.  "He – he …"

"He would have killed you," her friend said.  "His intent was to seriously harm you or kill you."  

She closed her eyes.  _I'm a murderer … I'm a murderer …_ "That doesn't matter!" she shouted.  "He's dead – that's all that really counts here."

"Leah, look at me."  She reluctantly complied.  "You acted in self-defense.  If you didn't stab him, he would have raped you or killed you.  You didn't have much of a choice."

She spotted a figure lying in the grass out of the corner of her eye.  At first she thought it was a local girl or another nurse, but the magenta evening gown was too extravagant for any of these types of women.  "Klinger?"

"Davis must have knocked him out before going to you," O'Reilly explained.

Her nursing skills kicked in and she rushed to the fallen corporal's side.  _I was right – impact with a rifle butt._  She checked his pulse and vitals, and pressed her arms against his head wound in order to staunch the bleeding.

"Don't move him," the company clerk instructed.  It was then that she realized that he had already started administering medical attention to the cross-dressing corpsman.  "We need a litter over here!" he shouted.

Leah took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  As much as she wanted to help Klinger, those words kept taunting her: _I'm a murderer … I'm a murderer …_


	13. The Leap Out

Copyright and Author's Rambling

                Finally!  May I present to you, dear readers, the final chapter (before the epilogue) of _L*E*A*P 4077._  I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

                In case you haven't already noticed, I do not own these wonderful characters.  The only two characters that belong to me are Nurse Leah Brighton and Major Theodore Davis.  M*A*S*H belongs to Larry Gelbart, and Quantum Leap belongs to Don Bellisario.

MASH 4077th

Ouijongbu, Korea

June 7, 1952

Sam helped the shaken nurse look over the unconscious corpsman.  "He's got a concussion," he explained, even though his words were unnecessary.  _She's a nurse – remember?  _He chastised himself.  "Would someone please get a litter over here!" he yelled.  While the doctor part of Samuel Beckett was tending to the injured man, the leaper part was bemoaning the failed Leap.  _I couldn't help Hawkeye … Davis was still killed …Klinger is hurt …_

            "Sam, calm down," a gravelly voice ordered.

            "Al!" he whispered, glad to be in the company of the short Italian.

            "We had a power surge," his best friend explained.  "Radar helped Gooshie get Ziggy back online."  The observer scanned the area, making note of injured corpsman.  "Where's that Davis nozzle?"

            Sam cocked his head toward the kitchen.  Al poked his holographic head and chest into the wall, which momentarily sliced his body in half.  _I'll never get used to that, no matter how many times I Leap._  When Al pulled himself out of the wall, his face was a slight shade of green.  "Geez Louise!" he gasped.  "What the hell happened here?  Sam, you didn't …" The leaper shook his head.  The observer motioned to the pale-looking nurse.  "She – she didn't …" Sam nodded.  He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar.  "Ah, geez Louise!" 

_Oh, boy is more what I'd say._  He wanted to ask the customary _what's going to happen to the people whose lives I leaped into_, but approaching footsteps prevented him from doing so.

            "For the love of God!  What in Sam's hill is going on here?"  The colonel noticed Klinger and stopped his tirade.  "What happened?" he asked, lowering his voice.

            "What happened?"  "Somebody hurt?"  "Igor, Goldman – go get a litter."  The commotion increased as more and more people crowded around the scene.

            "Concussion from a blow to the head," Sam told the commanding officer.  "Most likely from a rifle butt."

            "People, please move away from here," Major Houlihan ordered as she approached the "company clerk" and her nurse.

            "These cads are like vultures," Major Winchester observed.  "Someone gets hurt and they crowd around to delight in – Max?"

            "I'd never have expected the Lord of Pomposity to address a mere 'Lebanese flunky' by his first name," Al said sarcastically.

            Klinger's eyes flickered open.  "Wh-what happened?" he slurred.

            "That must've been quite a knock you took there, son," Potter told him.  The other man tried to sit up, but Sam and Potter held him down.  "Why don't you let us check you out for injuries."

            Klinger shook his head.  "I'm fine, sir," he assured the elder man.  He rubbed the back of his head and grimaced at the sight of the blood on his palm.  "Just got one helluva headache – tell you that much."

            "Well, you took one hell of a blow to the head," Al commented.

            "Did you ever catch that 'nozzle'?" the corporal inquired.

            " 'Nozzle'?" Potter asked.  He turned to the others.  "What in tarnation is a 'nozzle'?"

            Charles snickered.  "If he wasn't in the state he's in, I'd attribute the strange word to his bizarre customs."

            "Did you catch the nozzle?" he repeated.  "There was this man dressed like an eggplant …"

            "The only one in this outfit that would dress like an eggplant is you," someone called out.

            The dazed corporal ignored them.  "No!  Right before I blacked out, I saw this man who was dressed in an eggplant suit – I'd check that box of cigars if I were you, Colonel – he was smoking a cigar.  Kept waving his hands in front of my face and shouting at me about some 'damned nozzle'."  

            "Looks like this injury is worse than I thought," Potter quietly informed Winchester and Houlihan.

            For once, Sam was glad to step away from the scene and let the other doctors attend to the corporal.  "He saw you, Al."

            Al nodded and studied the screen of the flashing hand link.  "According to Ziggy, a head injury temporarily scatters the mesons and neurons."

            "That's why Klinger was able to see you, right?"  A thought occurred to him.  "Do you think he can still see you?"

            Al floated in front of the cross-dresser and got no reaction.  "No, he can't see me.  I think it was just before he blacked out."

            "Are they going to be okay?" Sam asked.  _I don't need to specify the word "they" to him._

            Al checked the hand link.  "Klinger spends forty-eight hours in observance, but he's okay.  Nurse Brighton …"  A scream coming from the direction of the kitchen interrupted the reading of the statistics.

            A private neither of them recognized burst out of the building, his body shaking.  "Major Davis is dead!" he told the crowd.

            "What do you mean, he's dead?" Potter asked the young man.  _Boy is more like it._  

            "Someone stabbed him."

            Sam stole a glance at Baby.  She hung her head and tried to blink back the tears.

            Satisfied that the "Lebanese flunky" was well cared for, Charles entered the kitchen to tend to the other injured party.  "Get me some saline, some gauze, and another litter!"   He called out.  The major's next words allowed Sam and Baby to release breaths they weren't aware of holding.  "I've got a pulse – barely, but it's still here."

            Kellye went over to assist Winchester.  Margaret began to help them, but decided that the major and the lieutenant were handling things nicely enough on their own.  "Whoever stabbed him was an inch away from killing him," she informed the colonel.  Her eyes found their way toward the quaking young nurse, who looked at her with pleading eyes before turning her face away.  "Brighton?" she asked gently.  The nurse didn't answer.

            Sam rushed to the nurses' side.  "He tried to kill her," he told the Head Nurse, keeping his voice low as to not attract attention.  "You can't punish her.  She acted in self-defense."

            Margaret nodded.  "I am aware of that, Corporal," she told him.  She placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder.  "It's okay," she said, trying to soothe her.  "The major was stabbed by a sniper," she said, her tone-of -voice a warning to anyone who dared contradict her.

            Nurse Bigelow ran toward the crowd, a smile stretched wide across her face.  _How can you be so happy at a time like this?_ Sam wanted to ask her.  He didn't have to worry; Colonel Potter took care of the question for him.

            "Captain Pierce's fever broke!" she announced to the crowd.

            The people around Sam began to simultaneously cheer and cry.  He was beginning to experience the warm and fuzzy feeling that accompanied the Leap Out.  Al noticed and quickly related the facts displayed by the hand link.

            "Hawkeye survives his illness and continues the family tradition of tending to Crabapple Cove, Maine's medical needs.  Baby finishes her tour of duty and returns home by the end of August.  She has some sessions with the psychiatrist Sidney Freedman to help her deal with Post-Traumatic Stress.  She goes to school and becomes a therapist specializing in women who experience traumatic crimes.  Margaret helps the 8063rd consolidate after the war and rises to the rank of "colonel" before retiring from the Army in 1994…" He whistled.  "… At the age of seventy-two.  Now that's one tough lady.  Klinger marries Korean local Soon-Lee Hahn and stays in Korea for two years helping her search for his family.  They return to Toledo, where he works as a TV repairman before opening a restaurant."

            "… Hunnicutt did what?" Margaret was saying.  "Why?"

            "Whatever it was, it saved Pierce's life," Potter pointed out.  "But where did he get such a cockamamie idea?"

            "Sherman Potter retires from the Army and settles down on his ranch in Hannibal, Missouri, where the sign on the door reads 'The doctor is in' on one side and 'Gone fishing' on the other.  He dies from a stroke in 1969."

            "It was all Radar's idea," Bigelow informed her superior officers.  "If he hadn't known what to do …"

Sam ducked down, hoping they wouldn't spot him before Al was finished with the report, but people were already milling around him.  He felt hands lift him up into a makeshift chair.  "For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow," they sang.

"B.J. returns to San Francisco, where he is reunited with his wife and two-year-old daughter.  He more than makes up to his daughter for the time he missed, but she wishes he would stop sending her Mrs. Hunnicutt's infamous fruitcakes."

Margaret, Potter, Igor, Goldman, Charles, Kellye, and other faces he didn't recognize were hooting, shouting, dancing, and just plain celebrating.  It felt good when he helped people.  Sometimes, he wondered why he created Project Quantum Leap.  The answers were always the same.  _To make right what once went wrong.  To make the world a better place.  To change history for the better. * _  There was another reason; he got satisfaction from helping people.  _Maybe that's why God, Time, Space, or whatever causes me to leap chose me.  _

"Charles becomes Chief of Thoracic Surgery at Boston Mercy, but leaves the position…" Al raised his bushy eyebrows.  "Whoa!  Major Rockefeller ends up opening a clinic for homeless people.  Who'd a thought."  Sam nodded for him to continue.  The blue and white light was already clouding his vision.  "Radar returns home after his uncle's death and takes care of his mother and the family farm.  He marries a woman he meets on R&R shortly before his discharge.  He arrives at Alamagordo Airport next Tuesday at 3:15 pm."

_What do you mean?  _Sam mouthed.  _How do you know all this?_

"What do you think, Sam?" Al responded.  "I get my information from a very reliable source."

_Ziggy?_

Al snorted before taking a puff from his beloved cigar.  "Erin Hunnicutt."

_Erin's family is going to be all right,_ Sam told himself.  Even though they weren't her biological family, the friends and coworkers of B.J. Hunnicutt were closer than their own flesh and blood.  _That's how Al and I are._  The blue light engulfed him, and he leaped.

*  Taken from a Quantum Leap quote ("Mirror Image"?)

            __


End file.
